Living Memories
by Maeli
Summary: Knives was defeated by Vash 19 years ago. With his disappearance shortly after and Milly's son, our beloved inhabitants of Gunsmoke have lived in peace for nearly two decades. But a new face has appeared, reopening old wounds and reviving dead memories.
1. The Legacy of a Priest

**To all readers:**

Alright, I'm back. I have to apologize to those of you that read Living Memories the first time around, because I started over. I just really didn't like where it was going, but here's the new and hopefully improved version. Of course, reviews are welcome, as well as any criticism you might have, as long as it's constructive. I hope you enjoy!

Suzu

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 1: The Legacy of a Priest**_

"_Really Mr. Vash? I get to keep it?"_

_The blonde gunman smiled and ruffled the young boy's hair. "Yes, Michael. You're a man now. You deserve it. But remember, always use it for good, and never take another's life with it." He leaned over so his head was even with the boy's, looking back and forth for a moment to make sure no one was within earshot. "And don't tell your mother." He shook his finger back and forth in a mock warning._

_Michael smirked at Vash, not naive enough to need to ask why his mother wasn't supposed to know. Strands of coal black hair fell in front of his eyes as he nodded slightly. "Ok, I promise."_

_Vash smiled at the wisdom held in the boy's expression and eyes. The bright blue orbs were just like his mother's, though they held understanding beyond their years, a characteristic absent in Milly's._

_In truth, he was just like his father, something that was a tragedy and a miracle all in one for Milly Thompson. From a young age the boy had shown an undying interest in just about anything that put his own life in danger. He had the same look, the same cleverness, the same brashness, the same inhuman skills, even the same hairstyle as his father. He had even taught himself to drive a motorcycle, and at only thirteen years old. Vash remembered one particular time, when Michael was only nine. He had taken on another boy as tall and half again as him, and at least twice his weight, just for being rude to his cousin. And he had won. Of course, being raised by a woman like Milly hadn't gone without effect either. Along with his father's proneness to danger, he had inherited her kind and caring heart. At this age, however, it was rarely seen._

_Vash smiled affectionately as Michael ran his hands up and down the cold metal of the gun, admiring its fine workmanship. He should, too. Frank had complained for weeks about how complicated and difficult making it had been._

"_Was this my dad's?" The boy's words shook Vash out of his thoughts. _

"_No, but your father had one like it. Only his was a lot, lot bigger."_

_The gun Michael held in his juvenile hands was indeed a miniature of the Cross Punisher, adapted into a pistol. The barrel protruded from the bottom of the cross, the trigger placed next to the spot where the two beams met. It was bright and polished, glinting silver in the sunlight. And it was one of a kind._

_Vash reached out and placed a fatherly hand on Michael's shoulder. "Your father was a good man, Michael. Carry on his legacy."_

"_How do I do that?"_

_The Stampede just smiled. "You'll figure it out someday."_

"_Vash, will you ever tell me about my dad?"_

"_Someday, Michael. Someday." _

_

* * *

_

"I'm eighteen years old today, Dad." A lean figure dressed in black knelt down on one knee in front of an altar in the isolated church. His lips turned upward slightly in a small smile. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" His only answer was an eerie feeling up his spine, a feeling that had characterized this church since the death that had occurred here nearly nineteen years ago. The young man bowed his head solemnly, his eyes fixed on one of the still faintly apparent scarlet stains on the otherwise immaculately clean tile. "Mom still misses you like crazy." He chuckled bleakly. "But she'll never admit it." He sat silently for a few moments, almost expecting an answer, though he knew he would never receive one to his desperate apostrophe. Instead the silence of the church only grew deeper, if that was possible.

Michael sighed deeply, falling from his knees so that he was just sitting on the floor, his legs out in front of him, with his knees bent so his elbows could rest on them. "Vash finally told me everything," he murmured, his dark hair shadowing his face, "he told me the truth, about how you died. I get it now. I understand why you were a forbidden subject with Mom, and why she's refused to tell me about you all these years.

"I was always told not to talk to her about you because it hurt her too much, that it was a delicate subject." His berating chuckle echoed in the empty building. "I should have realized that wasn't true. She's too strong to refuse to talk about something for a reason like that, and too insanely cheerful." Michael looked up at the cross on the wall, his usually penetrating blue eyes appearing uncharacteristically despondent. "Vash told me, though. He thought I had a right to know. Mom got mad at him at first, but after the first time she didn't protest. Somehow, I think she actually _wanted_ me to know. She just didn't want to be the one responsible if I, I . . ."

_If I turned out like you. She just didn't want to lose me, too. After all, you were a murderer, a traitor, a daredevil. It's no wonder she didn't want me to take after you, I'd probably just go off and get myself killed._

"She still doesn't regret falling in love with you for a second, though, and she'd easily do it again, in spite of everything. You _were_ a priest, after all, and a caretaker for orphans, and you had other virtuous aspects in your life." An honest smile graced his lips. "And you loved her, didn't you?"

A warm breeze from outside entered the dismal church, causing his black coat to billow up around him. He slowly rose, accepting that as a legitimate answer. Gently he lifted a bouquet of flowers from off of the floor, where they had been resting. They were roses, pure white roses. His mother had insisted that he take white ones. He found it slightly ironic. The color was a better representation of her than it was of his father. Slowly he stepped forward, carefully placing the small tribute on the altar. He glanced up at the cross one last time.

"Goodbye, Dad." The alien word slid across his tongue with difficulty, as it always had. He sighed, but smiled in spite of himself, exiting the church and leaving it to wait for the next hapless wanderer to grace the empty edifice with his or her presence.


	2. Frey

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 2: Frey**_

"That will be all." Michael effortlessly picked up his bag of groceries with one arm and exited the store, ignoring the small bell that announced his presence on the street to anyone who cared. "This should be enough to get me home," he said to himself as his feet involuntarily turned in the direction of his car, which was parked between the store and the bar next door.

He reached into the bag and pulled out a bag of potato chips, ripping the top off with his teeth. When he reached his car he set the grocery bag in the back and slowly climbed into it, his other hand being shoved into the potato chips for another handful. The car was topless, like many of the cars on Gunsmoke. It didn't make sense to him. After all, these cars were horrible to travel in due to the endless abundance of sand on the planet. He had multiple unpleasant memories of traveling in sand storms, where sand could seemingly reach anywhere it wished, no matter how covered or protected it was.

His personal complaints were interrupted by a yell from the bar his car sat parked next to, followed by several more angry shouts. He shook his head and turned back to trying to start the car, knowing noises like that were just best to ignore.

The sound of a stool crashing to the floor brought his attention back to the bar momentarily. His curiosity piqued, he walked up to the window and peered inside. The only thing he saw was a black and red blur flying toward him.

He didn't even have time to run. The next thing he knew, the window had shattered, and he was on the ground in the sandy street, having the wind knocked out of him. After a few moments he realized what had hit him.

It was a person.

Whoever he was, he scrambled to his feet quickly, as men were now pouring out of the bar. Michael outstretched his arm, half expecting a helping hand, but whoever had landed on him had bolted, the mob of angry men following.

"Wait a sec . . ." Michael murmured, mostly to himself. They were gone. Shaking his head, he stood up and brushed the sand and pieces of broken glass off, muttering under his breath. He began to climb into his car, when an old woman ran out of the bar, obviously terrified.

"Oh, young man!" she called, "please, you must help! Those horrible men, you have to stop them!" Michael glanced at her, planning to complain that it didn't concern him, but the look on her face pulled at his heartstrings. Groaning, he climbed back out of the car, muttering that he was becoming too soft.

"Wait, aren't you going to take the car?"

Michael looked back at the old woman and smiled, his eyes reflecting a mischievous shine. "Nah, it will just make too much noise. I like to surprise them."

In a few minutes he had caught up with the mob. His eyes caught flashes of them between the buildings across the road, where they still ran, focused on their victim. Michael increased his speed slightly, slowly gaining on the first of the men. Thank goodness he was fast.

Wondering why he was going to the trouble of helping this person who probably deserved whatever these men would do, he pulled out his cross-shaped gun and fired across the street.

The bullet hit one of the front men in the arm. He and a few of his companions were deterred, but the majority kept running. Michael grumbled under his breath.

Quickly he broke into a sprint in order to get in front of the target, then cut across the street. The leader of the mob, an obviously drunk and very large man, caught sight of Michael, and automatically assumed that he was attempting to assist the pursued. He pulled out his own gun and madly fired round after round in a drunken stupor. Some of his comrades glanced at him cautiously, others, just as drunk, willingly joined in. Michael ignored them, continuing to run and ignoring the sudden searing pain in his stomach.

The target glanced apprehensively back at the men over his shoulder, wondering what had sent them into such a rage. There was hardly any time to consider it, however, before an arm shot of nowhere and grabbed him, pulling him into a smaller dark alley. The victim felt a strong hand clapped over his mouth, and a masculine voice whispering harshly in his ear, "don't make a sound." Both of them watched as the men ran by, not even noticing them. As soon as they had passed, the victim began to struggle against the owner of the arm, and surprisingly the arm easily fell away. He turned back to find a young man dressed in black, smiling slightly despite the fact that he was drenched in sweat and deathly pale. He almost immediately recognized him as the boy he had been thrown into earlier.

"Wait, how did you get in front of me-"

He stopped as Michael fell to his knees, breathing heavily. "What's wrong-" He gasped as Michael pulled his other arm away from his stomach, which was covered in blood. The victim fell to his knees in front of Michael. "Oh my gosh, they shot you!" Michael looked up, expecting to see worried and compassionate eyes, but instead found the copper-colored ovals absent of pity. Then he noticed something else.

"Wait a second, you're a _girl_!"

The young woman stood up, placing her hands on her hips. "Of course I am," she said accusingly, "what did you think I was?"

Michael just shook his head, turning his attention back to his newly acquired wound. The girl sighed.

"You idiot, what were you thinking?" she muttered. "Saving a complete stranger like that . . . you shouldn't be so trusting, you know. I could kill you right now if I wanted to." If it hadn't been for the sharpening pain in his side and the fact that his vision was becoming more blurred by the second, Michael would have laughed out loud at her attitude. The girl turned, peeking out of the alley to double check that the men were gone. "You shouldn't involve yourself with things that don't concern you." Somewhat arrogantly she pushed a strand of short raven black hair behind her ear and murmured, "besides, I could have taken care of them by myself." Her only answer was the sound of a body hitting the ground, and she turned to find Michael unconscious on the cold stone ground, his crimson blood slowly seeping through his clothes.

* * *

The first thing Michael was aware of as he awoke was that his pain was gone. He shifted slightly, and immediately realized that he had been wrong. It was still there, just less pronounced. In his small movement, he also discovered that he was lying down, and that his coat and shirt were missing. The ground also seemed to be moving.

Slowly he opened his eyes, and instantly groaned as the light hit them.

"Oh shut up, you big baby."

He jumped as he realized someone else was in the room with him. He forgot to care, however, as the pain of his wound hit him again, and he let out a long, low moan. He heard footsteps approaching his bed, and then someone pried his mouth open, pouring a caustic liquid down his throat. He began to gag violently as the horrible taste penetrated his mouth, but stopped when the feminine voice returned.

"Hold still and drink it. It will make you feel better," the voice muttered impatiently. In spite of this reassurance, Michael reached out blindly, trying to shove whoever was doing this to him away. He sensed the girl back off, and heard her set the bottle of vile liquid down. Free of the horrible medicine, Michael reached up to his eyes and began gently massaging his eyelids, cursing his horrible luck.

"Do you feel good enough to sit up?" Michael stopped and opened one eye halfway, finally seeing the girl, though his vision was still slightly blurry.

Upon seeing her he realized why he hadn't recognized the fact that she was a girl. Her hair was as dark as midnight, and fell just above her shoulders, but it had been pulled up and covered by a hat. Her clothes consisted of a pair of tan baggy pants, obviously worn, and a simple black T-shirt. Sitting on top of her head was a pair of gray sunglasses. The only feminine thing on her body was an earring, a little red flower near the top of her left ear. It was no wonder that he had seen her as a boy until he had gotten up close.

"Why?" he asked in response to her previous question.

"I need to change your bandages."

It was then that Michael realized why he was shirtless. This girl, whoever she was, had cleaned and bandaged his wound.

Cringing slightly as he moved, Michael pushed himself up into a sitting position. Taking this as her answer, the girl stepped forward and began to remove the white wrappings around his stomach.

"How long have I been out?"

"About four days."

Michael tried to jump to his feet, exclaiming, "four days!" but almost immediately collapsed back onto the bed, groaning as the pain from his sudden movement hit him. He looked up at the girl, who looked down on him, smirking.

He closed his eyes again and rolled over on his side, not caring if she had finished. "What are you smiling at?"

"You."

Somehow her simple answer angered him even more. "It's not funny, okay!" To his dismay, he could almost feel her smile widening.

"You know, you sure are making a big deal out of this." Abruptly Michael rolled back over so he was facing her, his light blue eyes making a pathetic attempt to look angry.

"I was just shot! Of course I'm making a big deal out of it!" He sat up again, glaring at her. "It isn't funny! Now just leave me alone, would you!"

The girl's expression suddenly changed from amusement to absolute seriousness. Silently she sat down in a chair next to the bed. Michael continued watching her angrily as she lifted her leg onto the bed and pulled her baggy pant leg up. Red stained bandages greeted his eyes.

"What . . . I, but . . . you were shot, too?"

She shoved the pant leg back down and stood up again. "Yeah, saving you."

Instinctively he reached out. "Are you okay?" She immediately swatted his hand away.

"I'm fine."

"But what about the bullet-"

"I already got it out, okay?" He looked up at her in surprise. Her acidic cinnamon eyes were watching him closely, clearly saying, _let it go, okay?_ They almost seemed to bring out a red hue as her frustration heightened. He quickly shut his mouth, looking down.

She reached down, finishing with his clean bandages. When she was finished, she leaned back in her chair, putting her arms up behind her head. "You know," she began, watching him with one open eye, "I only thought you were being a baby because you've obviously been through this kind of thing before."

He looked up at that, dismayed. "How do you know-"

"You've got scars."

Michael snorted. _You should see Vash's_.

"Who's Vash?"

Michael looked up in shock. "I, I didn't say anything . . ." The girl's face paled suddenly.

"Oh, uh, yeah, never mind, I don't know what I'm talking about." She began to laugh nervously, scratching the back of her head.

Awkward silence filled the room for a few moments. The girl stood up and walked to the window. Looking out it, Michael suddenly realized why the 'ground' was moving. They were on a sand steamer. This brought another thought to him.

"Um, where are my shirt and coat?"

The girl turned again, obviously glad for the change in subject. "Oh, I threw them away."

"You _what_!"

"Well, you see, they were covered in blood, and it wouldn't come out, so I just got rid of them. You wear too much black anyway, you know. So I got you a new shirt." She pointed to a bag on the floor next to him. He grabbed it, and pulled out a navy blue button-up shirt.

"It's still dark," the girl explained, "and blue will look good on you. It matches your eyes."

Seeing protesting as futile, Michael just slipped the shirt on, surprised that she had been perceptive enough to correctly guess his size, buttoned up all but the top two buttons, and rolled the sleeves to his elbows.

"See!" she commented, "it looks great." Instead of responding to her comment, he just looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Who are you, anyway?"

"Frey."

"Frey," he repeated. "That's it?"

"Yes, Frey. And you are . . . ?"

"Michael."

Frey nodded. "Okay, Michael. Now that that's out of the way, would you mind telling me why you rescued me? I don't have any money, if that's what you want-"

To her surprise, Michael actually started laughing.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I was wondering myself why I did it. Some old lady just asked me to."

"So you just did it? Out of the kindness of your heart, right?" she said sarcastically.

"Um, yeah."

Her eyes silently appraised him. "Alright then, but why did you allow yourself to be shot?" He looked down. He had hoped she wouldn't realize he had let himself get wounded. He easily could have stopped it, but that would have required . . .

"I guess I could have killed them, but Vash never would have forgiven me."

"He never would have known," the girl answered, not bothering to ask who Vash was and revive the awkwardness that had existed the last time he had been mentioned.

"He would have found out."

She said nothing more on the subject.

"So, where are you from?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm from September."

"Any family?"

Frey turned on him sharply. "No." Then her expression softened, for the first time. "I live with a doctor in town. It's a long story. You?"

Michael shifted uncomfortably as he answered. "Yeah, I just live with my mom."

For the second time, awkward silence filled their small cabin. Both took a deep breath.

"So what were you doing in Tonim Town?" They looked at each other and laughed, having spoken at the same time. The tension broken, Frey answered.

"I was just on an errand for the doctor. Looking someone up for him. You?"

"Just on my way home from visiting someone." He failed to mention that that 'someone' was his dead father.

Frey nodded, then looked back out the window, watching the quickly passing landscape. No matter how far they went, the scenery was always the same. Sand, sand, and more sand.

"Where are we going?"

Frey sighed. "Wherever this takes us."

"You mean you have no idea where we are!"

"Hey, I was just concentrating on getting us away from those guys, okay? This was our only option. I didn't bother asking where it was going. I wouldn't complain if I was you. At least you're alive."

She looked over her shoulder as Michael abruptly stood up. "Well, I'm going to find out," he said, growing frustrating with her oppressive attitude.

"No," she protested, "you need rest. I'll go."

"But your leg-"

The acrid look immediately returned to her eyes. "Michael." He gulped. "Sit down." Silently he obeyed. "I'll be fine. It's nothing."

She walked over to the closet and pulled out a red jacket, which she slipped over her black T-shirt. She also slid on a pair of dirty brown boots and pushed her sunglasses onto her nose, then reached for the handle on the door.

"Frey?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you help me?"

She looked at him and half smiled. "Same reason you helped me, I guess. I have no idea."

* * *

Four hours later, Frey stood alone on the deck of the sand steamer. After being told that the steamer's next stop was the city of December, she had come here.

It was nearing evening now. The city was faintly visible in the distance. She still had no idea what to do. She couldn't get off now, she was nowhere close to home, but she had no money left to continue. Sighing, she leaned over the edge, watching the miles of sand pass beneath her feet.

"Excuse me, Miss." The voice made her start, and she whirled. She had half expected to find Michael behind her, but instead her eyes met those of a member of the steamer's crew.

"Miss," he continued, "the money you gave us was only enough to get you this far. You'll either have to pay us for further passage or get off now."

Frey smiled sheepishly. "Um, I'll get you that in a minute, ok? It seems I left my money in my room."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You don't have any more money, do you Miss?" It was more of a statement than a question.

Frey began pulling at a tuft of her black hair uncomfortably. She glanced back and forth, searching desperately for an escape from the situation. Suddenly she cried out and pointed at a spot behind the man.

"Oh my gosh! What is that thomas _doing_!" The man turned, and she bolted. He realized what she was doing when it was already too late.

"Hey you, get back here!" he cried to no avail. Muttering under his breath, he stopped a passing crew member.

"Alert the crew immediately that we've got a fugitive on the steamer. She's a young woman, about eighteen, wearing tan pants and a red jacket. She's got short black hair. We need to get her off as soon as possible." The other man immediately nodded and disappeared.

Frey darted through the halls below deck as fast as she could. She could hear the pounding feet and yelling voices above her, and knew that soon she would be caught. She burst into her cabin and grabbed Michael, who was sleeping.

"Michael," she muttered, shaking him violently, "Michael, we've got to go _now_." When he had finally been aroused, she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet.

"Frey," he asked groggily, "where are we going?"

"I don't know," she muttered, "anywhere we can hide."

"Hide?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Yes. They're trying to make us get off at this stop, but we can't."

"Why?" he asked, as the steamer started to slow, eventually coming to a full stop.

"Because then we'll have no way to get out. I'm completely out of money, so unless you're hiding some substantial funds in your pants . . ." she let it trail off, shaking her head. Michael just watched, still not completely coherent, as she shoved a few things he couldn't make out into a bag and then grabbed him by the wrist, hauling him out the door.

He silently allowed himself to be dragged through the dark hallways by her, regardless of the fact that he could make out her slight limp and knew that enduring that kind of pain while maintaining a steady run was probably just about killing her. The only way it wouldn't be was if she had taken some of that horrific stuff she had forced down his throat (which he noticed was working), but he didn't know anyone that would willingly put him or herself through taking that, no matter how drastic the pain.

Frey led him around a corner and down another hallway, almost straight into the arms of the man that she had encountered earlier. She backed up, pulling Michael with her, but the man chased them right into a corner. At that moment, the steamer began to move again, throwing Frey slightly off balance. She just shoved Michael off when he reached out and tried to steady her.

Both Frey and the other man moaned, Frey because she was stuck with a bunch of men after her _again_, and the man because now he couldn't get rid of her while they were in this town.

She sighed. "I guess this is my stop." Michael looked at her, suddenly very apprehensive.

"Um, Frey, the sand steamer is moving."

The crew member of the steamer snorted. "What are you talking about? You can't get off . . . aagh, what are you doing!"

Frey had ripped open the small window on the wall and climbed halfway through it.

"Are you suicidal? You can't jump out the window!" the man cried as he and Michael each grabbed one of her legs.

"Do you think I'm just going to sit here and let myself get arrested for attempting to stow away?" she cried stubbornly.

"That's better than dying!" the man cried.

"Who said I'm going to die?" Suddenly Michael let go of the leg he was holding.

"What are you doing!" the man cried.

Michael shrugged. "Hey, she's got a point." The man blanched at his words, then was forced to let go as Frey kicked him in the stomach and gave one last shove. Michael was right behind her, and the man watched in shock as the two plunged downward. No one could survive a fall like that.

Michael held his breath as his dark hair whipped around in his face. He glanced at Frey. Her eyes were closed, her face completely serene and calm.

"How the heck did I get myself involved with you?"


	3. The Intro to the Stampede

Hey guys, here's chapter three. Many thanks to sausuge, my one reviewer (by the way sausuge, Wolfwood is dead -sorry- but he'll still play a major part in the story). New reviews are always welcome!

Disclaimer: I do not and never will own Trigun

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 3: The Intro to the Stampede**_

The next thing Frey knew, she was lying on her back. She heard someone nearby, someone calling her name. It was distant, barely discernable . . .

"FREY!"

She gasped and shot into a sitting position as cold water was poured over her head. Michael was kneeling next to her, grinning. "Good, you're awake." She glared at him, then let herself fall back onto the ground, spreadeagling.

"Well that didn't go as planned. Where are we?"

"In December."

She moaned aloud. "Oh yeah . . ."

"You know," Michael commented, "that was pretty stupid of you. We would have ended up here anyway, if you just would have cooperated with that guy, and you wouldn't have been knocked unconscious."

"I didn't _plan_ on jumping out a window," she shot back, but she bit off her retort as she noticed that Michael was leaning over her leg, her bad leg.

She shrank away from him. "What do you think you're doing!" Immediately she regretted it as a sharp pain shot down her leg. "Ow!"

He patiently pushed her back down so she was laying on the ground, then went back to cleaning her wound, causing her to wince. "It reopened," he explained, "you need to take some of that sick crud you gave me."

"Why? That has nothing to do with my wound reopening . . ."

"I know, but if you take some you won't be digging your fingers into the ground and clenching your teeth because of the pain anymore."

Stubbornly, Frey lifted her hands from the ground and allowed her jaw to go slack, ignoring the fact that it made the pain almost unbearable. Michael just shook his head.

"Here," he said, pulling the vile of liquid from his pocket, "I managed to grab this on our way out. Drink some."

Frey clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head.

"Oh grow up. It's not that bad."

"That's why you were practically vomiting when I made you . . . ugh, Michael no!" She tried to squirm away from him, but it was too late. Michael had taken advantage of the moment she had opened her mouth, and the medicine was now running steadily down her throat.

She coughed and sat up, spitting in the sand in an attempt to get rid of the taste in her mouth.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked, still gagging.

Michael smiled. "Well, lucky for you, I live here."

Frey looked at him in surprise, her eyes suddenly forgiving him for forcing her through what he just had. "Really?"

"Yeah. You can stay with us for a while." Frey smiled and actually allowed Michael to help her to her feet, in light of their good fortune. The pair started down the street, Frey doing her best to hide her limp. Michael didn't even dare offer her help walking. They hadn't gotten far when they heard a loud, echoing scream. Michael apparently recognized it, as he shook his head, murmuring, "he's at it again." Frey raised a questioning eyebrow, but Michael just shook his head again, silently telling her that he'd explain later. "You stay here, okay? You're in no condition to be coming along."

"But Michael . . ."

"Don't whine to me. You're not coming." He turned on his heel and was gone, Frey glowering as she watched him leave. "I'll be back soon," he called over his shoulder, "just stay here." Frey kicked the dirt angrily, then cringed as she remembered her injured leg. She looked down at it in surprise when no pain came, and just glared even more angrily at the retreating figure of Michael as she realized it was because of the medicine they had made each other unwillingly take.

* * *

Michael ran down the street, toward the source of the noise. He could recognize that fake, pity-seeking scream from a mile away. It was Vash.

The sound of repeated gunshots gave Michael another clue as to where Vash was. He turned, following the source of the noise, and soon located what happened to be a mob of men, all set on killing Vash the Stampede. He slowly gained on them, as he had with Frey's mob, but as he was more confident in this situation, he dropped the stealth act and at the right moment threw himself in front of the mob, between it and Vash. The men stopped, staring at him stupidly. After a few moments one in the middle waved his gun in the air, crying, "get him!" The mob would have started forward if not for the young woman that now burst out of a nearby alley to stand by Michael.

"Frey," Michael muttered under his breath, "I thought I told you to stay put." He glanced quickly over his shoulder. Vash was nowhere in sight. This was quickly turning from a fun little game to a seriously dangerous situation.

Frey smiled. "You didn't seriously think I was going to let you have all of the fun, did you?"

"Get 'em both!" One of the men suddenly yelled. "They're with Vash the Stampede!"

Frey began backing up, more out of confusion than fear. "What are you talking about? We're not with that outlaw!" She turned to run, grabbing Michael, but the sound of a series of clicks made her freeze. She turned back around. Every single man in the group had a gun fixed on either her or Michael. Slowly the men circled them, chuckling.

Suddenly one of them grabbed her roughly by the shoulder, holding her inches from his revolting face. She could feel his rank breath on her face, reeking of beer. A snide smile crossed his face as he looked at her, and he chuckled softly. She would have shuddered, but refused to allow them, or Michael, to see any weakness in her.

"Now, what's a pretty thing like you doing with Vash the Stampede?" His words were slurred together as only a drunk man's would be. She was about to retort, but she felt someone grab her jacket from behind, and was soon safely back next to Michael, who had a death grip on her upper arm. She looked up at his face, but he didn't look back. Surprisingly, his eyes held no fear, only confidence and anger, which she was surprised to realize were there because they had touched her.

"I told you," she spat, "I don't know what you're talking about!" She glared at the man, mustering every ounce of anger and bitterness she could into her eyes. It gave her great satisfaction when he actually fell back a step.

"No! Leave them alone, or face the terrible wrath of Vash the Stampede!" Everyone's heads turned, and Frey saw a distant figure running toward them, waving his arms like a maniac. Michael loosened his grip on Frey's arm, and actually smiled.

The men had temporarily turned their attention from Michael and Frey to the man, who continued running despite the downpour of bullets now falling around him. And Michael was smiling at seeing him? Frey would have expected a less idiotic rescuer, considering Michael's reaction. She cupped her hands to her mouth.

"What are you doing, you idiot! Get away from here while you can! STOP RUNNING THIS WAY! YOU'RE GOING TO GET SHOT!" Frey's shouts died as the nearest man slapped her roughly across the cheek, leaving a stinging red mark and ordering her to shut up. The man was lucky that she soon became preoccupied with the man still running toward them, or he without doubt would have received a swift kick in the groin, among other places.

The man's running failed to cease, but miraculously he wasn't hit. It was obviously his intention to rescue the two of them, but as he reached the mob a man simply outstretched his leg in his path. The man tripped into the circle, landing on his face right in between Frey and Michael.

Now that he was closer, Frey saw that he had spikey blonde hair, was very tall, and wore a simple white shirt with brown pants.

Michael cleared his throat. "Frey, meet Vash." Then, suddenly getting an idea, he commanded Frey to the ground. She raised a rebelling eyebrow, but couldn't protest when Michael grabbed her by the shoulder and shoved her down. She ended up sitting in the sand next to the supposed Vash the Stampede.

Her eyes widened as Michael's hand entered one of the pockets in his black pants. She knew everything was happening much faster, but to her his movements seemed played in slow motion. His hand reemerged, and with it the strangest gun she had ever seen. It glinted as the sunlight hit it, and somewhere in the back of her mind she acknowledged the fact that the men had fallen silent, along with her. She couldn't even hear their breathing.

Then Michael fired. The small cross spat out bullet after bullet, Michael emptying and reloading it with inhuman speed. In moments all of the mens' guns lay useless on the ground, Michael's cross pistol emitting a small amount of smoke.

The man named Vash raised his face from the sand, grinning.

"Nice shooting."

"I learned from the best."

Frey and the mob stood dumbfounded. Some of the men began to run, but a few remained, including the one that had earlier accosted Frey. These were not willing to give up their $$60 billion so easily. The same man grabbed Frey again, this time holding a knife to her neck.

"Give yourself up or the girl dies, Stampede." Michael immediately cocked his gun. "I wouldn't do that," the man continued. "You wouldn't want to accidentally hit her, would you?" Michael glared, but lowered his gun, and Vash remained silent on the ground, as half of the remaining men had guns focused on his head.

Frey smiled, ignoring the cold steel that was so close to piercing her flesh. "What, you've given up already?" she asked boldly, no longer in the trance Michael's actions had put her in. Michael looked at her, shaking his head in a warning to not try anything brash. She ignored him.

Swiftly she drove one of her elbows into the man's stomach. In his shock, he released her, and she took the opportunity to pin him to the ground, kicking his knife out of his hand.

"Why you little . . ." Before he could finish, Michael had picked Frey up and grabbed Vash by the collar, dragging him to his feet, and broken through the men at a breakneck run. Frey noticed in amusement that Vash turned and stuck his tongue out at the baffled men as they ran away.

"Michael . . ." Vash said between two huge gulps of air, "please . . . stop . . . can't run anymore . . ."

Michael pulled them around a corner and up against a wall, also taking deep breaths from running so hard for so long. Frey, finally realizing that she was being carried bridal style by Michael, jumped away from him, muttering, "put me down!"

All three sunk into sitting positions on the ground. When he finally had his breath back, Vash glanced over at Frey, nudging Michael in the side.

"Um, who is she?" He had tried to whisper without her hearing, but realized he had failed as she turned sharply at hearing a reference to herself.

"Vash, this is Frey. Frey, Vash." The two sat on either side of Michael, watching each other carefully with a small degree of suspicion.

"Ok, but who _is_ she?"

"I really have no idea," Michael whispered back.

Finally Vash outstretched his arm over Michael, grinning. Frey carefully took it and allowed him to shake her hand, then finally smiled. His shake was firm, confident. Maybe he wasn't such a bumbling idiot after all.

"I get it," she said, "those guys just thought you were Vash the Stampede because your name is Vash, right?"

Michael looked quickly at Vash, trying to suppress a laugh, and Vash just grinned sheepishly at her.

"Yeah, that's it," he said, laughing and scratching the back of his head nervously.

Rolling his eyes, Michael stood up, brushing himself off. "Well, I've got to get home." He outstretched a hand to Frey, but she ignored it and stood up on her own. He just shook his head, slightly frustrated with her undying stubbornness.

"Yeah," Frey started, "I'll just, um, be on my way, I guess . . ."

"You're staying with me, remember?"

"No, don't worry about it, I can handle myself. I'll get home." Michael barely resisted reaching out and strangling her.

"Frey, you don't have any food."

"So?"

"Or water."

"Yeah?"

"Or money."

"I'll be fine."

"Or transportation."

"Don't worry, I'll get by. I don't need-"

"What are you going to do, teleport back to September?"

"Um . . ."

It was at this moment that her stomach decided to growl loudly, easily heard by Michael and Vash. Michael smiled, his expression daring her to try to protest again.

Sighing in defeat, she muttered "fine," and silently followed Michael away, though not without making her disapproval of the arrangement clearly known. Vash had watched the short exchange with a small amused smile, and now walked a few paces behind the two, chuckling softly to himself.

* * *

"Mom?" Michael swung the door open slowly. "MOOOOOOOOoooooooom . . ."

No one answered. All of the lights were off, so Michael hit the switch on the wall, bathing the room in a soft yellow light. The room they were currently in was the living room, with a couch, a few chairs, and a coffee table. Through an open doorway Frey saw the kitchen, in which was a staircase she assumed led to the bedrooms.

Michael sighed. "My mom isn't home. I'm going to go cook something. I'm starved." He headed into the kitchen, leaving Frey standing there awkwardly. "You can do whatever you want," he called from the doorway. "This will be ready in a few minutes."

Not seeing any other options, Frey plopped down on the couch, quickly welcoming its fluffy cushions in contrast with the hard chair she'd been in for the past four days. Before long, she felt her eyes growing slowly heavier. She let out a long yawn and stretched in a not completely sincere attempt to stay awake. Before long she had been completely enveloped in darkness. Michael's head appeared in the doorway.

"Hey Frey, how's chicken noodle-" He stopped. She was fast asleep, her breathing deep. She had wrapped herself in a large black blanket on the couch, and all that was showing from it was the top of her head. Smiling, he glanced out the window. The sun hadn't even completely set yet.

"Well, goodnight."

* * *

A few hours later, when the sun had set, Frey still lay sleeping on the couch. Michael had eaten his share of the soup he had made, then promptly followed Frey's example and fallen asleep at the kitchen table, leaving her share to grow cold on the counter. Neither heard nor noticed the tall woman now nearing the house, with light brown hair and two overflowing bags of groceries.

Milly hummed cheerfully to herself as she pushed open the door. Her attention was immediately drawn to the figure on the couch, and the black hair protruding from under the blanket. Two bags of pudding cups were dropped as she let out a loud, unrestrained squeal.

"Michael!"

She ran across the room, pulling off the blanket in an effort to prevent "him"from suffocating. The face of a sleeping young woman greeted her own. Milly blinked a few times, confused.

The sudden removal of the blanket made Frey shiver, then wake up. She rubbed her eyes, then opened them, only to see a very tall woman staring openly at her. Immediately she jumped into a sitting position and tried to back up, though the couch prevented it. The awkward and horrible silence was finally broken by the sound of a pan crashing to the floor in the kitchen. Only moments later, Michael burst into the room.

"Wait, Mom! It's not what you think!" The silence returned as Milly glanced at him, then back to Frey, still staring in disbelief.

Frey gave a confused look to Michael, who just stood there. She glanced at his helpless look, then at the baffled woman still watching her, then back at Michael, noticing the yellow apron with a big smiley face on it. Then she did the only thing she could think of to do. She started to laugh.

At first Michael looked at her in shock, but realizing that there was nothing else to do, he soon joined her. Milly just looked back and forth between the two as they laughed so hard it hurt.

"Stop," Michael begged, "I can't laugh anymore, Frey!"

She momentarily stopped and looked at him, but the look on his face just made her buckle over again. Eventually Milly began to laugh a little, not able to help it after watching the two of them practically bust a gut.

Once Michael and Frey had regained control of themselves and the tension in the room had been somewhat eased, Michael sat down on the couch next to Frey and quickly introduced her, explaining that he had helped her out in Tonim Town and wisely leaving out the facts that they had both been shot, had been nearly arrested, and faced two angry drunken mobs in the course of less than a week.

"Frey, this is my mom, Milly."

Though there was little resemblance in Michael and his mother, Frey quickly noticed that they had the same bright blue eyes.

Milly quickly smiled and reached out, shaking Frey's hand enthusiastically. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Frey. Will you be staying with us long?"

Frey shot Michael a surprised look, but he just smiled, as if to say, _I told you it was alright._

She looked back at Milly, already beginning to like her. "No, I wouldn't want to be a burden or anything. I'll just be in town long enough to earn sufficient funds so I can get home."

"Nonsense. You can stay with us as long as you like." She quickly cut Frey off as she began to protest. "We've got room anyway, and it's not like you have anywhere else to go, right?" Confused at the abundance of hospitality she was being given, Frey just nodded.

"Um . . . okay."

"Great! So where's your stuff?" Frey lifted the small brown bag from of the floor.

"Right here."

"Well, she seems nice," Milly said, plopping down on the couch and opening the first of her mountain of pudding cups. Frey was upstairs now, asleep, having been obviously exhausted.

"Yeah."

"That's a very nice shirt, Michael. Where'd you get it?"

Michael looked down in surprise at the shirt he had practically forgotten. "Oh, Frey bought it for me."

"It's nice to see you in something other than black."

"Sure."

"So what happened to your other one?"

"Oh, it was too blood-" he cut himself off. "Uh, I got rid of it."

Milly bolted to her feet, pudding forgotten. "Oh Michael, where was it this time?"

"What?"

"Where did you get shot this time? Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

"Let me see it."

"_Mom . . ._"

"Let me see it, Michael! I want to make sure you're okay!"

Reluctantly, Michael lifted the front of his shirt, revealing his bloody bandages. Though her childishness usually made her rather incompetent as a mother, Milly never under did it when she believed he was really in danger.

"See Mom? It's already been taken care of."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_."

Milly sighed in defeat and sat down, making herself accept that there were some parts of his father that he would always have. Quietly she turned back to her pudding.

"So, how did you get shot?"

Seeing no reason to hide any of it from her anymore, Michael answered truthfully. "I got hit helping Frey, okay?"

"Well at least you were doing something honorable," she answered, smiling.

"Right," Michael responded, wondering how she could be sick with worry one moment and grinning from ear to ear the next. "Goodnight."


	4. December

Here's chapter four. Thanks again to my reviewers, sausuge and Bouzouki Joe. I've been wondering, do you guys in general like this kind of story? I mean ones about a/the child(ren) or otherwise related people of the main characters. Please give me some feedback!

To Bouzouki Joe- I'm curious, what's your theory about Frey? I won't tell you if you're wrong or right, but I'm just interested in what people are thinking up to this point.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun ;(

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 4: December**_

"Hey Frey, wake up."

Frey moaned, throwing a pillow at Michael, who stood across the room.

"Leave me alone, I'm tired."

"I wouldn't be complaining if I was you. At least you got a bed last night."

Frey opened one eye and looked at him from where she lay. He was right. Milly had insisted that she have a bed, so Michael had been kicked out of his room and forced to sleep on the couch. And this morning he looked awful.

"Didn't sleep well, huh?"

He muttered an inaudible reply.

She sat up, stretching and yawning widely. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Where are we going?"

"You want a job, right?"

Frey nodded. She needed money, and fast. It was her only way to get home.

"My aunt offered you a job at her restaurant."

"You have an aunt?"

"Several, actually. Carly is the only one that lives here, though."

Frey nodded absentmindedly, not really paying attention.

"Frey?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm coming."

In five minutes both were dressed and headed down the street. The restaurant was only about a block away. A small bell tinkled as Michael pushed the door open. Frey pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head.

The restaurant was by no means worthy of a five-star reward. Frey instantly noticed as she walked in that it was simply decorated and not overbearingly large, though it had a homey atmosphere that immediately made her feel welcome.

At the sound of the opening door two women looked up. The taller and older of the two looked just like Milly, with the exception of her warm brown eyes and hair pulled into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. The other, obviously much younger and probably about Frey's age, had the same eyes as the woman, but fiery red hair pulled into a long braid and a freckled face. The younger woman smiled at Frey, but the elder raised an eyebrow in scrutiny of their guest. Michael quickly got introductions out of the way. The older of the two women was Carly, Milly's sister, which explained why the two of them looked so much alike. The redhead was her daughter, Aidan. Both wore crisp white aprons, and other than them, the restaurant was empty.

Michael led Frey to the back of the edifice and handed her a clean apron, putting an identical one on himself.

"Um, what do you want me to do?"

"For now you can take orders," Michael answered, turning on the oven, "that shouldn't be too hard."

Frey soon realized that the task she had been assigned to was indeed incredibly easy. After nearly three-quarters of an hour, only five customers had arrived. She soon found herself with a lot of free time.

An hour later, Frey sat alone at one of the booths, trying to pass time by watching the people passing on the street outside. She silently hoped that each one would turn and enter the restaurant, giving her something to do, but her hopes were dashed repeatedly as no one even cast a glance her way.

Michael had been of no assistance in entertaining her. He had immediately set to work washing the few dirty dishes in the sink, and now sat at the bar style counter, supposedly cleaning it, though Frey had noticed the glaze that had come over his eyes a few minutes ago as he gazed at a small picture on the wall.

"He's thinking about him again."

Frey jumped at the unexpected voice and turned to find Aidan standing behind her. She smiled nervously, as if she was embarrassed to have interrupted Frey's thoughts. "May I sit down?" she asked carefully.

Frey nodded indifferently, then glanced back at Michael, at whom she with some embarrassment realized she had been openly staring.

"Thinking about who?"

Aidan glanced sadly at her cousin. "His father. He died before Michael was even born."

"How?"

Aidan sighed. "We're not really sure. Milly won't talk about it a whole lot. I think Michael knows, but I don't want to ask him. It would probably hurt too much to talk about it."

Frey frowned, a new thought entering her mind. Where was Aidan's father?

Aidan sensed her unasked question. "My dad's in the calvary," she said, "he's not around a whole lot. I haven't even seen him in almost six months."

"That must be hard."

"Oh no, my mom and I support him, and don't complain." Aidan answered, smiling. "So, what about your parents? Where are they?"

Frey looked quickly back at Aidan, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. "Um . . . I haven't exactly, uh, seen them in a while."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's too bad."

"Uh, yeah."

An awkward silence ensued, in which Aidan began doodling on a napkin.

"So," Frey began again, "are Wednesdays usually slow days?"

"Oh, most days are like this. My mom and I are having a little trouble keeping this place going, with my dad gone and all." Frey raised an eyebrow curiously as Aidan grinned optimistically. "But it doesn't matter. We'll find some way to get through. Our problems could be a lot worse."

"Are you always this positive?" Frey asked in an annoyed voice.

"Huh?"

"I mean, here you are, telling me that your only source of income is about to go up in smoke, and yet you're smiling like nothing in the world is wrong."

"So?"

Frey sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh forget it."

Her complaints against Aidan were interrupted as a short woman with black hair much like her own and deep blue eyes entered the restaurant, grinning.

"Hello Aidan. How are you?"

"Fine Meryl, thank you."

The woman's gaze shifted to Frey and rested on her for a moment, her eyes silently evaluating what she saw. "Ah, and you must be Frey."

"Um, yeah. How do you-"

"Vash told me all about you."

"You know Vash?"

Meryl chuckled softly. "You could say that. My name's Meryl. It's good to finally meet you." With that she turned and crossed the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Who was that?"

"Vash's, er, girlfriend, I guess."

"Those two are seeing each other!" Frey turned to look at the woman, finding it hard to picture the blonde beanstalk with the short, businesslike, not to mention older woman that had just passed her.

"Yeah, I guess" Aidan responded, not seeing anything unique about it. "I wish they would just get married already."

"Hm, maybe it's the age difference?" Frey asked sarcastically.

"What do you mean? They met when they were both in their early twenties."

Frey raised an eyebrow. "And how long ago was that?"

"Almost twenty-five years."

Frey blanched. "You mean to tell me that Vash is forty something!"

"Yeah."

Frey shook her head. "Wow. The years sure have been good to him."

Aidan didn't respond to that. "Meryl is an insurance agent. She and my aunt Milly are partners, and they met Vash a long time ago on an, um, assignment. I'm not sure of all the details, but I guess it was just love at first sight."

Meryl, who had heard the last part their conversation as she stood at the kitchen door, smiled at the irony of Aidan's statement as memories of her and Vash's first meeting came back to her. It wasn't exactly what she would classify as "love at first sight."

"Oh," Frey said in a bored voice. Aidan decided to change the subject.

"So, where are you from?"

"September City."

"Were you born there?"

"No."

"Where were you born?"

"It doesn't matter," she answered unemotionally.

Aidan glanced at her apprehensively. "Well, I was born and raised here. I've never really been anywhere else. What's it like in September?"

Frey smiled, memories of her home being brought back. "Oh, it's like here, I guess. This planet really is pretty much the same, no matter where you go. One big desert."

Aidan frowned, her dreams of a more beautiful place somewhere on Gunsmoke suddenly dashed. "Oh."

"Yeah, it's not that bad, though. You get used to it."

"I guess." Aidan sighed as her eyes fell to stare at her hands.

"What?" The redhead looked up.

"Oh, nothing. It's just that I don't think I'll ever get the chance."

"To get used to it?"

"Yeah."

"How come?"

"Well, my parents would never let me leave December on my own. You're really lucky, you know."

"Not really. There are worse things in life than being trapped."

"Like what?"

Deciding it would be best to not disillusion the girl of the naive fantasies she had built in her head, Frey merely answered, "oh, just things."

Not sensing Frey's wish to stop talking, Aidan continued.

"So, how did you and Michael meet?"

Frey grinned, remembering. Finally Aidan had brought up something she was actually willing to talk about. "You really want to know?"

Detecting a good story, Aidan nodded.

"Okay. So, I was in this bar-"

"You were in a _bar_?"

"Yes, a _bar_." Seeing the look on Aidan's face, she quickly explained. "I wasn't drinking, okay?" _Wow, this girl is sheltered._

"Then what were you doing?"

"Just meeting someone, alright? So-"

"Was Michael in the bar?"

Frey sighed impatiently. "No, I landed on Michael when one of the men in the bar threw me out the window."

"They threw you out the window!"

"_Yes_. This guy was mad because I beat him arm wrestling."

"You-"

"_Yes_, I beat him arm wrestling. Now, he got all his little drunk friends together, and the next thing I knew a mob of angry men was chasing me down the street."

"That must have been scary."

"Not really. So anyway . . ."

An hour later, Frey finally finished her tale with, "and then we went to Michael's." Aidan had watched her, transfixed, the entire time, continuing to add questions and comments at the most inopportune times. She was in awe, amazed that a girl just a year older than her saw a near death experience as just another day. She had heard some of Michael's stories, but dismissed them, telling herself it was just because he associated closely with Vash the Stampede on a regular basis, and didn't have parents that suffocated him.

"Wow," she murmured, "I don't know how you do it."

Frey leaned back, putting her arms up behind her head, which currently was growing dangerously large.

"Yeah, it's not that bad after awhile," she said, not trying to hide the pompousness in her voice.

"Aidan, you're working, aren't you?"

Aidan moaned at the sound of her mother's voice reverberating from the kitchen.

"Aidan?"

"Yes, Mom." She turned to Frey, knowing she was guilty for exactly what her mother had accused her of. "Uh, bye."

Frey smiled, deciding that maybe Aidan wasn't so bad after all, despite her innocence and obliviousness.

"'Bye."

* * *

"Hey Michael."

Michael looked up from the plate he was currently scrubbing to see Meryl, who was grinning in an uncharacteristically mischievous way.

"Yeah?"

"I met Frey."

"That's nice."

Meryl had been waiting for nearly an hour now for a chance to talk to Michael alone. Aidan and Frey had finally left just a few minutes ago, Aidan taking Frey on a tour of the city. And with Carly busy up front with some new customers, she had finally gotten her chance.

"So that's the girl you took the bullet for."

Michael nearly dropped the plate in his hand. "No, it's not like that," he muttered, "I just got careless, that's all."

"Michael, you know you don't get careless."

"Yeah? Well I did this time, okay?"

"Michael. The only times you allow yourself to get shot are when it's the only way to save someone else." Michael began scrubbing his plate harder.

"Uh, I think it's clean."

He placed the plate in the other sink to be rinsed and roughly grabbed another one.

"Admit it, you did that to save her, didn't you?"

"I didn't even know her, okay! I was just helping someone out!"

"But why did you bring her home with you?" Michael clearly heard the banter in her voice, openly daring him to fight back.

"I wasn't exactly conscious, Meryl. She dragged me to a sandsteamer and we happened to get kicked off here because we were out of money."

"So it was all just a big accident."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

Michael paused in his scrubbing, closing his eyes and sighing in disgust. "Yes, Meryl."

"Well, she seems nice enough."

"Sure."

* * *

Frey turned in surprise as the front door to Milly's house swung open. Michael stood behind her, holding two bowls. He held one out and smiled. "Hungry?"

Frey smiled slightly and took one from him. It was ice cream. He sat down next to her and looked to the horizon, where she had been watching the first of the two suns set.

"So, how was your first day in December?"

She shrugged. "Oh, it was fine. Your family is really nice."

"You can't wait to get out, can you?"

"Nope."

"I thought so."

Frey took a bite from her bowl, taking pleasure in the feeling of the cold substance melting in her mouth.

"No offense or anything, Michael, I just kind of miss home."

"I understand."

They fell into silence. Frey finished off her ice cream, slowly savoring the last bite, then set the bowl aside, sighing. Michael followed suit, laying back on the porch and putting his hands up behind his head. The evening was dead silent. Not even a slight breeze was there to give them something to listen to. It was almost eerie.

"Hey Vash, wait for me!"

Frey glanced down the street, in the direction the noise had come from. Vash was coming, a kid that looked to be about five on his shoulders and three more trailing at his heels. A few paces behind him was Meryl, carrying a little girl and holding another one's hand. Frey raised an eyebrow.

"Orphans," Michael said, without even looking up. My father ran an orphanage here when he was alive, and after his death Meryl, Vash, and my mom moved here to keep it going." He sighed. "That's part of why Carly's restaurant is going under. She and Aidan spend so much time volunteering at the orphanage, too much time if you ask me."

"Then how do Meryl and Milly and Vash get by?"

"Meryl and my mom work for the Bernardelli Insurance Company. They're kind of what you could call 'field' agents." In reality the two were still assigned to Vash's case, which meant they hardly had to do anything and the paychecks kept coming. That left them plenty of time to help out at the orphanage.

Frey shook her head as she watched Vash get tackled and practically strangled by the children. "And those men back there thought _he_ was Vash the Stampede."

Michael shrugged.

"Does that happen often?"

"You mean people going after Vash claiming he's the Stampede?"

"Yeah."

"Vash says it used to, when he traveled around a lot, but now that he's settled down it doesn't so much."

"Oh."

A little boy glanced up and saw the two of them sitting on the porch. He ran right up to Frey.

"Hey lady, wanna come play ball with us?"

Frey's eyes widened, and he pointed to herself as if to ask,_ me?_

"Yes, you," Michael said, nudging her in the side, "go on."

"You come too, Michael!"

"Okay, Jacob. I'm coming." He feigned a sigh, as if the little boy had beaten him in some great battle of wits. Then he stood up.

Frey ended up just watching most of the time, throwing the ball occasionally when it happened to get thrown in her direction. The kids were adorable. How good Michael and Vash were with them amazed her. In a few moments Meryl walked up to stand beside her, just as Vash got hit directly in the face with a hard throw.

"Idiots, both of them," she said smiling, "but the kids love them."

Frey chuckled. "You guys must put in a lot of hard work to keep that place going."

Meryl shrugged. "It's worth it. And the kids are wonderful. They're always willing to help with anything and everything." She sighed peacefully. "You learn to love them."

* * *

"Excuse me, sir."

"Yeah?" a man answered gruffly.

"I heard you were making deals on rooms to be rented for extended periods of time."

"Yeah."

"I need one."

"How much ya' got?"

Frey emptied the contents of her bag onto the counter, looking up to watch him. The man counted it quickly with his eyes, then with one wide sweep of his arm had brushed it off of the counter into some unknown place.

"You've got yourself a deal, missy."


	5. Frey's Follower

thanks to sausuge and Bouzouki Joe for your flattering reviews. And as always, more are always welcome!

**sausuge:** you asked why Frey is renting a room instead of just staying with Michael. You have to understand that Frey doesn't like relying on people, and that she's very stubborn, as seen when she refuses to let Michael help with her leg when she is shot and when she claims that she didn't need his help escaping the mob. Whether she's really that capable or not, she's confident in her own abilities and doesn't want to have to depend on anyone else. And then there's the fact that if she continued staying with them Michael would be permanently out of a bed. I hope that helps.

**Bouzouki Joe: **interesting theory. Actually, if this was the original version of the story, you'd be mostly right. Originally Frey was Vash and Meryl's daughter, but was separated from them as a child or something and ended up being reunited with them through Michael. But I changed it. I think this version is better and more surprising, though.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter Five: Frey's Follower**_

"Ok men, you know what to do. Stay here and wait for my signal."

Five boys, ranging in age from three to eight, stood anxiously in the hall as the one that had spoken, Jacob, eased open the door they stood behind.

"There's our target," he whispered, "I'm going in."

The other five boys stood in almost absolute silence, watching as their leader crept across the hardwood floor, cleverly avoiding squeaky boards. He rose to a standing position, eyeing their target and making sure it was asleep. Then he held up one hand, three fingers extended. The boys held their breath.

Jacob's ring finger fell, leaving two fingers in the air. His middle finger fell as well, leaving one lone finger extended. Then, after a few more moments of silence, he gave a quick flick with his wrist.

"AAAAaaaah!"

The boys swarmed the room, attacking the figure sleeping at the table. Soon they had her on the ground, climbing and jumping on top of her.

"We got you Frey!"

The girl let out a feigned scream. "Oh no! You got me! Whatever shall I do?" She began to roll back and forth violently in an effort to get the boys off. "Help! Someone, please! Help!"

Carly burst into the room, having heard the scream. She smiled and rolled her eyes, turning to leave again.

"That girl."

The boys quickly scattered when Frey finally got free and attacked the nearest one by tickling him in the side. He squealed loudly. Laughing, Frey let him go, and he scampered off with his friends, no doubt to formulate another plot against her. Sighing, she stood up.

"Fell asleep here again, huh?"

Frey smiled sheepishly at Meryl's question.

"Yeah. I guess time just got away from me."

Meryl smiled. "Those kids sure love you."

Frey shrugged. "I guess. I don't really see why, though."

"It's simple. It's because somehow you know how to make them feel happy, like you can relate to them. It's almost as if you completely understand what they're going through."

Frey fell silent. She sensed the clear question in Meryl's voice, and her curiosity about her past. She decided to refrain from answering, however. Sensing her decision not to speak about it, Meryl backed off.

"You can come over for breakfast if you want," she said simply, then turned and made her descent to the first floor.

Holding her hands under the running sink, Frey cupped a small amount of water and splashed it in her face. She looked up at herself in the mirror.

Her hair was longer now. It fell just past her shoulders. She wore most of it down, pulling just the top half back into a ponytail. She sighed, realizing how much time must have passed since she met Michael. She had stopped keeping track a while ago. She had stopped counting her money, too. For all she knew, she might have plenty to get home. But after learning of the orphanage, and meeting the kids, and becoming better acquainted with the citizens of December, she had suddenly stopped caring so much about returning to September. The idea of going home, which she had hardly been able to wait for when she had first arrived, she now found strangely unsavory. Though she was reluctant to admit it, she had fallen in love with the town, or perhaps more the people in it.

She and Aidan had grown closer than she would have ever thought possible. The two were complete opposites in attitude, background, personalities, everything, but somehow the differences just brought them together as friends. For reasons unknown to Frey, Milly absolutely loved her, as well as Meryl and Vash, though Carly was still a bit skeptical of the influence she was having on her daughter. They had all shown nothing but complete hospitality, however, even when Frey had gone and gotten her own place to stay. Her fierce independence made it somewhat hard for her to accept their willingness to help, but she still found she appreciated the effort. And Michael, well, he was just Michael.

There was a short knock at her door.

"Come in."

Michael, Vash, and Aidan entered. "Ready to go?"

"Yep."

They were going back to the orphanage. This wasn't the first time Frey had fallen asleep and ended up staying the night there, but she didn't regret it. She loved spending as much time as possible with the children. She grudgingly admitted it to herself, but she knew Meryl was right. The reason she got on with the kids so much was mostly because she could relate.

Things had been fairly calm since Frey, Michael, and Vash's encounter with the men on Frey's first day in December, giving her no reason to suspect Vash's true identity. She still found herself wondering occasionally, however, about the mens' claims that Vash was the Stampede. Experience in the past few weeks had told her that Vash was really just a fun-loving, foolish donut fanatic. Who would suspect someone like that to be the humanoid typhoon?

The four of them exited Frey's apartment and began to make their way down the street, towards the orphanage.

"Hey you!" Frey, along with Vash, Michael, and Aidan, stopped and turned at the sound of a voice behind them. A tall, skinny man, dressed completely in black, stood behind them. His huge cowboy hat cast a shadow over his eyes, and long, filthy brown hair protruded from under it.

"You're Vash the Stampede, aren't ya?"

Frey glanced up at Vash, who looked more annoyed than scared. Even as the man drew his gun, Vash just stood there, watching him curiously.

Quick as a flash, the man cocked his gun and fired, his bullet making a straight path at Vash's head. Vash easily dodged it, making Frey raise an eyebrow. "Well that wasn't very nice," Vash said, frowning in feigned seriousness. The man snorted.

"Well fine then." He shifted the aim of his gun so it was pointing at Aidan, who stood a few feet away from Vash. He fired. Aidan screamed, squeezing her eyes shut as the ball of lead sped towards her. When she opened them again, she was on the ground, with Michael crouching next to her. She sighed in relief.

The man began to mutter under his breath, highly perturbed by their refusal to succumb to death. He lifted the gun again to fire.

"That's enough." The man raised an eyebrow. Vash hardly sounded serious.

"Do you really think I'm him?" Vash asked, smiling. "After all, he hasn't been heard from for nearly twenty years."

"I've been hunting him for much longer."

"That's sounds like a pretty wasted life. How about you just forget all of this, and go back home to your family?"

"Not until I see you dead."

"But what makes you so sure I'm him?"

"I've seen you before. I'd recognize you anywhere. Now stop with your petty distractions and prepare to die."

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that."

The man's eyes narrowed in anger. "Shut up!" he cried, raising his gun so it was pointing at Vash's head again.

Vash didn't move. His soft smile remained on his face. "Please sir, don't do this."

"I said close your mouth!" he shouted. He shifted his sights to Frey, who stood several feet away from all of them, too far to be saved at a moment's notice in case he fired.

"Just give yourself up now and the girl lives."

Frey's eyes narrowed, but she stood still. "Coward."

Vash's smile disappeared.

"Leave now," he said, addressing Aidan, Michael, and Frey. Michael and Frey glanced at each other and nodded, silently agreeing to stay put. Aidan slowly backed up, but also remained.

"Look guys," Vash said, "this guy isn't just some pushover. Your parents would never forgive me if anything happened to you." He was still ignored, and Frey noticed that even in the seriousness of the situation he hardly seemed worried. He was probably just trying to be responsible for a change, and prove to Carly that he wasn't a horrible influence on her daughter.

"Don't worry Vash, I'll take care of him," Michael said, drawing his pistol. But Vash shook his head.

"No, he came for me. And that's what he's going to get."

He began to lift his left arm. Michael's eyes widened.

"No Vash, you can't-"

He was too late. As Vash held his arm out in front of him, his thumb seemingly dislodged itself from the rest of his hand, leaving a gaping hole between it and his four other fingers. Frey took in a sharp breath, but that was the only reaction she had time for before a forest green machine gun had extended from the hole and settled into its position above Vash's forearm. Even faster than the gun had appeared, Vash fired it, hitting the man dressed in black in his shooting arm.

The man Vash had shot clutched at his arm before noticing that it had barely been grazed by the bullet. Laughing and assuming Vash just had bad aim, the man lifted his gun again and smirked, considering his next move.

Frey barely caught another movement out of the corner of her eye. Still, it was there, and her attention was momentarily drawn from Vash's formerly concealed weapon. Behind the man preparing to kill them all, another one was hiding in a dark alley. Frey could tell he was much younger than the man dressed in black in front of them, even though she could barely see him. At first he seemed unarmed, but then Frey noticed a quick silver glint in the dim light. With a start she realized that the man in black was merely serving as a diversion. She looked quickly up at Vash, but his eyes were focused on the man in black. He hadn't noticed the other, who was drawing close to becoming his assassin. She almost warned Vash, but the man in black was about to fire. He raised his gun and cocked it, and following his motions, the man in the alley raised his own weapon. The man in black was pointing his gun at Aidan again, who stood alone since Michael had moved to help Vash. He would fire, and while Vash was busy protecting Aidan one more time the hidden man would deal his deadly blow.

"Oh please, don't make me do this . . ."

Almost in slow motion, the man fired his gun. The bullet sped toward Aidan, who stood frozen, petrified, once again. Vash immediately fired, knocking the other man's bullet off course. Then he turned in the direction of the alley, preparing to catch the knife he knew was speeding toward him, thrown by the man hidden there that he had noticed before the other man had even shown up.

He saw the silver blade speeding toward him rapidly, his super-human senses easily predicting how long it would take to reach him, which would probably be less than a second. Just before it came within range of being caught by him, however, the knife suddenly froze in mid-air, as if stopped by an invisible wall.

"What the-"

The man with the gun froze, not understanding what had happened. The hovering knife suddenly dropped to the ground, and the gunman dropped his gun in shock. He turned to run, shaking his head in disbelief, but he hadn't taken two steps before he collapsed to the ground.

"I . . . I can't move," he said in a pained voice, though there was no one there to help or pity him.

"What's going on?" Aidan whispered, her eyes wide with unmistakable terror. "Michael? Frey? . . . Frey?"

All three looked at Frey, whose eyes were fixed on the man on the ground. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, and she appeared as if she hadn't heard her name.

Michael took a hesitant step toward her. "Uh, Frey?"

_What are you waiting for? Go get the man in the alley before he gets away!_

Michael jumped back, looking frantically around him. "What the-?" The voice had come from somewhere around him. It almost seemed like it had reverberated from inside his head. It had been familiar, sounding almost like . . .

"Frey!" It was Vash. "Y-you're psychic!" Frey smiled slightly, though her attention remained focused on the man. _What gave me away?_

Michael's mind flashed back to the day he had awoken under Frey's care on the sandsteamer.

"_Who's Vash?"_

"_I, I didn't say anything."_

"_Oh, uh, yeah, never mind, I don't know what I'm talking about."_

"But . . ." he trailed off, realizing exactly what this meant. When she had been thrown out of the bar and gotten chased by that mob, when the man on the steamer had tried to kick them off, when the drunk man had held a knife to her throat, she could have stopped any of them at any moment. She had never needed any help at all. She really could have handled it all by herself if she had chosen. Vash really wasn't the only one with something to hide.

Vash picked up the knife that had stopped right in front of him, realizing that its halt had been Frey's doing as well. Then he looked up and into the alley. The man that had thrown it was gone. Realizing the same thing, Frey released the control her mind had on the other man, who quickly rose and scurried away like a frightened animal. There was no point in keeping him there anymore.

She walked over to Vash and looked down at the knife he held in his hand. Immediately she froze. She knew who that knife belonged to.

"Frey, Frey, Frey," a voice somewhere above them suddenly said, "I leave you alone for just a little while and look at what kind of trouble you get yourself into." A figure appeared on the rooftop of the building nearest them. Frey just stared as the young man jumped off the roof and landed next to her.

His smirk was his most defining feature. It stood out above all else, an arrogant, haughty smile that revealed clearly enough his attitude. He wore a simple outfit of battered brown pants and a white T-shirt. His hair was short, reminding Vash of how Knives' hair had looked when the two of them were still with Rem. This young man's, however, was a sandy color, matched with olive green eyes.

"Alec . . ." Frey whispered, half in disbelief, half in disgust. Michael glanced at the knife still in Vash's hand, realizing suddenly that this was the same man that had attempted to kill Vash. He looked back up in confusion, but Frey and the young man she had addressed as "Alec" weren't where they had been standing a moment before. The two of them were about a block away, the man running and hauling Frey after him with a tight grip on her wrist.

"Frey!" Michael cried.

"Alec," Frey gasped, "what do you think you're doing!"

"Taking you home," he answered, flashing her a bright smile. She stopped running, pulling him to a halt with her.

"I don't want to go!"

"Frey!" he muttered, "come on! We have to get out of here! You don't know who that was!"

"Who, Vash?"

"Yeah, Vash _the Stampede_."

"What?" Frey didn't protest as Alec began to drag her after him again. "Don't tell me you believe that too!"

"It's true."

"He can't be," she argued, though Alec didn't respond. He came to an abrupt halt, then peeked around the corner of a building to make sure no one was there. When he had confirmed that the coast was clear, he ran across the street to a car which was parked in some shadows.

"Get in the car."

"No! I can't believe you just tried to kill Vash! He's not the Stampede, Alec! I've been living here in December with him, so I can guarantee that!"

"Then why is he such a good gunman?"

"Lots of people can shoot guns, Alec."

"Frey, he shot that other guy's bullet out of the air. He didn't even have a gun, it was his arm! He's not normal! Now get in the car."

Frey just stared at him, frowning defiantly. "_I'm_ not normal, Alec."

Alec rolled his eyes. "Frey, that guy I was with has been searching for Vash the Stampede for years, decades even. He saw the destruction of July and Augusta. He knows what he's doing, and there was no doubt in his mind that the man you were with was Vash the Stampede. Now please, just get in the car."

"If he's such a professional then why was _I_ able to defeat him so easily?"

"Don't pull that, Frey. With your powers, a guy like that was no match for you, and you know it."

Still seeing her hesitance, Alec continued. "Look, do you even know that guy's last name? Do you know anything about him, other than the fact that his name is Vash?"

"I-" she stopped, realizing that he was right. Beyond his personality, she knew nothing about him.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going with you." Alec sighed, disgusted with her stubbornness.

"I didn't want to have to do this Frey, but-" he turned so she couldn't see what he was doing, then pulled something out of his jacket. Before she could react, she felt a damp cloth placed over her face.

"Alec! What are you . . . dooooing . . ." she trailed off as unconsciousness took her. Satisfied, Alec lifted her lifeless body into the passenger seat of the car and climbed into the driver's side.

"Frey, no!" It was that boy that had been with her. He, the Stampede, and the redhead had just spotted him from across the street. Quickly Alec started the car and sped off, leaving the three coughing in a cloud of dirt and sand behind him.

"Frey . . ." Michael whispered, watching the car retreat. Vash placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Michael."

"Well, can't we do something? We have to go after her, we have to-"

"Michael, if she didn't want to go, she would have stopped him," Vash answered, apparently not having seen how Alec had forced her to comply.

"What are you saying?"

Vash shrugged. "I just don't think he was really kidnapping her or anything."

"She wouldn't have just left."

"Do you really know that? Sure, she's been here for awhile, but you don't really know her."

Kicking the dirt angrily, Michael turned in the direction they had come from and stalked off.

"Michael-"

Vash placed a hand on Aidan's shoulder, silencing her. "Just let him go."

"Meryl, can I ask you something?"

Meryl looked up from her desk. Vash's face looked disturbed, a trait uncommon to it. She stood and walked over to their couch, sitting down and motioning for him to do the same.

"What's wrong?"

"Frey's gone."

"What?"

"She left with some guy that showed up on the way to the orphanage," he answered, leaving out the fact that the 'guy' had tried to kill him and potentially kidnapped her.

"Oh," she said, her face falling, "how's Michael?"

Vash just sighed, clearly saying, _you know the answer to that question_.

"That's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

Vash smiled dryly. "Is it that easy to tell?"

"It's me, Vash."

"Oh, right."

"So what is it?"

"Um . . . well, on the way back from the restaurant, a different man showed up. He was after me."

Meryl's face showed obvious concern at the thought of Vash being in danger, but she knew that couldn't have been what was bothering him. He had gotten used to that years ago, and even if it didn't happen very often anymore, it wouldn't be something he'd complain about.

"Well?"

"Frey stopped him."

"Frey?" Meryl asked incredulously. "How?"

"Well, that's kind of why I didn't discourage her from going, or encourage Michael to go after her. It really concerned me-"

"Vash, tell me what happened."

"She has . . . powers."

"What kind of powers?"

"Mind powers . . . just like Legato's."

Meryl froze. That name hadn't passed Vash's lips in years. "Are you saying . . ."

"I don't know, Meryl. I hope it's just a coincidence, but part of me keeps saying that can't be true."

Meryl laid her head on Vash's shoulder and sighed. "Oh Vash, I'm sure it's fine. Legato's been dead for nineteen years, after all."

"There's something else."

Meryl sat up, sensing the wariness in his voice. "Yes?"

"I don't know how to explain it, but . . . when she smiles, when she's really calm, she . . . she looks just like . . ."

"Like who?"

Vash swallowed hard. "Like Rem."


	6. Returning

Once again, thanks to my reviewers: sausuge, Bouzouki Joe, and Ashari. You guys are great! I hope you continue to enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 6: Returning**_

Frey had been drifting near consciousness for a few minutes now. She would become faintly aware of a few noises around her, though most of them were drowned out by the air rushing quickly past her ears. That meant she was moving, and fast. She always ended up falling back into darkness, however.

This time, though, after gaining that first grain of awareness, she began to feel the power of her limbs returning to her. Then her eyes fluttered open slowly. At first the bright light blinded her, and she closed her eyelids quickly, but after a few moments she was able to open them and leave them that way. After a few more minutes spent waiting for her vision to focus, she sat up slowly.

"Good morning, sleepy head." It was Alec. Of all people. They were in a car, the one she had refused to get in last night. Last night . . .

She bolted up straight in her seat, the occurrences of the previous evening coming back to her, including her last moments of consciousness, as Alec had lifted her, helpless, into the car.

"You-" her next word wasn't heard, as Alec had slammed on the brakes as she practically tackled him. As the car came to a halt, he shoved her off of him.

"What do you think you're doing!"

"What do I think _I'm_ doing? You're the one that kidnapped me and dragged me here! I can't believe you did that!" She dove at him again, completely knocking him out of the car and jumping on top of him. Her usually copper eyes were sparking dangerously, giving them a red glint that Alec knew all too well.

"Frey," he gasped, trying to shove off her hands which were clenched a little too tightly around his throat, "it was for your own good . . ."

"Don't give me that! You know nothing! You . . . you-"

Some of the sand around them began to swirl up around her as she involuntarily began to use her powers in her anger. She was distantly aware of Alec's voice, screaming at her, but she was too consumed in anger to care.

He had taken her away from them. From Vash, from Michael, Aidan, Milly, all of them. He had had the audacity to drug her so that he could take her without a struggle. And he had tried to kill Vash.

"Frey!"

She felt herself pinned to the ground as Alec freed himself of her grasp and pushed her down. It practically rained sand as she regained control of herself, breathing heavily. Her eyes began to return to their natural color.

"How long!" Alec suddenly yelled in her face. "How long would it have been before you lost your temper like that with one of them! What would have happened then? They would have had no idea what was going on, and you would have ended up hurting someone! You could have hurt the very children you were trying to help, Frey!" He had given up on trying to convince her that Vash was really the Stampede, so he decided to take this action instead in order to stop her from going back. He saw that it was working, too, as the impact of his words hit her.

"You can't just run off like that, Frey," he continued, "you never know when you might lose control. You were right, Frey. You're not normal. And your little tantrum there was nothing compared to what you could have done." He released his hold on her shoulders, seeing that she had completely cooled down. She sat up slowly, avoiding his gaze, then climbed back in the car. She sighed heavily, knowing that he was right. She didn't have sufficient control of herself, and she had been stupid to put them all in danger. She hadn't even told them about her powers, or given them any warning. She could have just thrown a fit one day and ended up severely injuring someone, or worse. Still, somewhere in the back of her mind she couldn't help thinking that they could have handled it. Maybe that was just her stubbornness when it came to admitting she was wrong.

"What did they do to you?" he asked, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like they've brainwashed you or something. Like you had completely lost sense of your other life, back home."

"That's ridiculous, I-"

"Do you even know how long you were gone?"

"Of course! It was just a couple of weeks."

"Three months, Frey."

Silently, Alec climbed back into the car and pushed down on the gas. He was mad. She couldn't blame him. But she knew it wouldn't last. He hadn't come all the way out here to bring her back home just to leave her behind because of a disagreement. And he would go through all of it again for her, she knew. After all, he had been her best friend for five years, ever since his grandfather, the doctor, had adopted her.

Frey was drawn out of her thoughts as the car started to sputter, eventually sliding to a halt with one last spit of life from the exhaust pipe. Alec moaned and placed his head in his hands.

"The car died."

Instead of answering him, she just glanced around them. All that surrounded the car for as far as the eye could see was sand. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope." Alec sank into his seat and laid his head back, closing his eyes. Seeing that he wasn't going to do anything about it anytime soon, Frey just slid off her jacket and climbed out of the car, plopping down on the ground in the small shadow that the car cast on the desert floor.

"Got any water?"

"Nope."

"Food?"

"Gone."

"How long do you figure we'll be stuck here?"

"Well, I figure a bus should be this way in about a month. That is, assuming you have money for bus fare."

Alec sighed, revealing clearly enough his answer.

"Well, we're stranded in the middle of nowhere, with no food, no water, and no money. There's no one looking for us, and we probably won't see another living being for at least a few weeks."

"Hey, at least it's not raining."

"Don't jinx it, stupid."

At that Alec fell silent, wondering if he had been wrong to come get her. Quickly he shook himself out of that train of thought. She had been with Vash the Stampede. Who knew what that man wanted with her? Besides, both he and his grandfather had been worried when she hadn't returned from Tonim Town like she had promised she would after a week at most. He smiled wryly, remembering the look in her eyes when she had attacked him. They shouldn't have worried. She was a force to be reckoned with. He should have known that she would be fine. Suddenly he found himself unable to be angry with her anymore. That wasn't very surprising. She had that kind of effect on people, at least those that had known her for awhile.

* * *

"Alec, how did you find me?" Alec opened his eyes slowly, aroused by her question.

"Huh? Oh, I was just talking to that guy who was after the typhoon, and he told me he had seen a young woman with black hair with him. So I thought I'd take my chances and see if it was you."

"His name is Vash, you know."

"Whatever." Alec was still sprawled in the driver's seat. He had hardly moved since the car had broken down.

"Frey, how long have we been here?"

"Two days," she answered from under the car. Then she emerged, wiping a wrench clean on a rag. Her face was smudged, her hair pulled back away from her face into a messy bun on the back of her head. Alec just turned his head to look at the vast expanse of desert, his eyes half open. He sank further into his seat, sighing.

"I think I might have it fixed," Frey said for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Try the ignition." Alec half-heartedly reached out and turned the key. The car sputtered a few times, nothing more.

Frey sighed and wiped her forehead with the rag, just dirtying it further. "Guess I'll try again." She wasn't sure why she hadn't just given up like Alec, laying in the car and moaning. She had tried countless time to fix the car, obviously to no avail. But she couldn't give up. After all, she had been stranded in the desert before and survived. She wasn't about to die in this wasteland. She shoved the rag into the back pocket of her pants and leaned against the car door, taking a moment to brush some of the sand off of her. Her gray sunglasses slid slowly down her nose.

"Frey, I think I see a car."

"That's a lizard, Alec."

The boy's emerald eyes fell in disappointment.

"Well, can we eat it?"

"Are you going to cook, or would you like me to?" she asked sarcastically.

"We're going to die, aren't we."

Deciding not to answer, Frey slid back under the car. The shade was always a welcome escape. The heat was almost unbearable. Frey had shed her jacket long ago, but that left her with just her black T-shirt. It had to be black. The heat was obviously getting to Alec. She just hoped she wasn't next. After all, they were both relying on her sanity to get them out of this alive.

"Hey, you guys need some help?"

Frey moaned. _Great. Now I'm hearing voices._

"Hello?"

"Alec, make the voices go away."

She received no response.

"Alec? Alec?" She slid into the open, automatically looking to the driver's seat. Alec was gone.

"Excuse me miss, can I help you? Your friend's already in the car."

_Car?_

Sure enough, Alec was sitting in a car barely a few feet from her, looking down at her, waiting. She leapt to her feet.

"Are you serious?" she asked, mostly speaking to herself. She touched the car door just to be sure it wasn't another mirage, then lifted herself over the door and into the back seat, feeling suddenly rejuvenated and grabbing her jacket as she went. "Yes!"

"Where are you guys headed?"

"September."

The man that had rescued them laughed as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Wow, you're miles from there. Did you have any idea where you were going?" Frey glanced at Alec, who sat up proudly.

"Yes! We just got a little . . . distracted."

"You mean lost."

He frowned. "Well if you _have_ to put it that way."

"You mean we were lost!" Frey shouted. "You idiot, you didn't even know where we were going!"

The man laughed again as Alec looked down, muttering. "My name's Sloan. I've got to take care of some business back home, but I'll get you guys put on a bus to September once we get there. How's that?" Frey smiled gratefully.

"Thanks. How long do you think it will take to get to your town?"

"By nightfall at the latest."

Frey looked up. The sun was nearing its peak in the sky, which meant it was nearly noon. They had several hours ahead of them. The man, Sloan, offered her a canteen, which she quickly took and drained. She was quickly beginning to like him, but that was hard not to do considering he had just saved her life and offered to send her back home.

He appeared to be a middle-aged man, probably mid-forties. His hair was mostly gray, with a few hints of red left. She guessed that his hair had probably been as bright as Aidan's in its prime. He was tall, nearly as tall as Vash, lean, and muscular. His skin was tanned and leathery, his features chiseled from obvious months spent in the sun and sand. In the passenger seat sat a calvary man's gray cap and jacket, with blue trim and shiny gold buttons. As she noted the rifle protruding from next to him, she determined that he was probably a force to be reckoned with.

The rest of the trip was fairly silent, with the exception of Alec's snoring and the man's occasional humming. He was obviously excited to be returning home. Just before sunset, Frey sighted the town in the distance. Her eyes widened, and she rubbed them twice just to make sure she wasn't seeing things. After all, she _had_ been stuck in the desert for two days.

"Is that . . ."

"The wonderful town of December," Sloan said when she trailed off. "Is that a problem?" he continued, taking note of the look on her face.

"No, most definitely not," she answered, grinning.

"Shouldn't we wake up your friend?"

"No way."

She held her breath as they pulled into town and neared the street Michael, Milly, Carly, and everyone else lived on. Sloan turned the wheel and pulled onto it. Frey laughed at the irony of the situation as he pulled right in front of Carly's house.

"Alright, here we are," Sloan said, smiling. "You two can come in for a minute and meet my family if you want."

Frey suddenly remember Aidan's explanation of her father, who was in the calvary. Oh, it was a small world.

Alec began to stir next to her. Thinking quickly, she grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be the canteen she had used earlier, and hit him over the head with it. She grinned in satisfaction as his eyes closed and his head fell back, snoring again.

"I think we should just leave him here to sleep," she said to Sloan, following him up to the door. He shrugged, then turned to the door and knocked heartily, obviously pleased at the though of seeing his wife and daughter after several months.

Though she couldn't see who opened the door on the other side of Sloan, Frey immediately knew it was Aidan as a high pitched squeal was heard.

"Daddy!"

Frey smiled in spite of herself at the sweet reunion, and her grin just widened as Carly came pounding down the stairs and flung herself into the arms of her husband. Sloan laughed out loud, swinging Carly around a few times before placing her back on the ground and stepping aside to reveal the girl standing behind him.

Aidan and Carly's jaws dropped.

"I want you two to meet-"

"Frey!"

Frey grinned. "Hey guys."

* * *

Michael jumped as the door to his bedroom suddenly swung open and his cousin burst into the room. Aidan had a huge grin on her face.

"What's up with you?"

"Guess who's back in town."

"Um . . . I don't know. Who?"

"Oh come on, just guess."

"Your dad?" She nodded excitedly.

"Guess who else."

"He brought someone with him?"

"Mmmhmm."

"I give up."

"Oh come on."

"I don't know, Aidan," he replied, growing quickly tired of her games.

"Well, she's about your age, and she has black hair, and-" Michael was out the door before she could finish.

He sprinted down the street, not daring to believe that she was back, but hanging onto this shred of hope for dear life at the same time. Sure enough, Sloan's car was parked in front of his house. He ran up to the front door, but stopped when he heard a soft moaning. Turning around, he noticed a body in the car.

"Hello?"

The body sat up slowly, then looked up at him with half-open eyes. Michael froze. It was the boy that had drug Frey after him a few days ago, the same one that had thrown that knife.

"Why you-"

Alec's eyes flew open and he jumped out of the car as Michael practically flew at him. The anger in his eyes was unmistakable. Alec couldn't really blame him, considering what he had done.

"I'm going to kill you," Michael muttered, realizing all too soon that he didn't mean it. That wouldn't stop from venting his anger on the other young man, though. He dove at him again, this time managing to land a fist in his face. Alec fell backward, then drew a knife. Michael easily dodged it, then attacked again, this time his punch being blocked.

Alec wrestled him to the ground and held him there. "Look," he muttered, "I don't want to fight you."

"You kidnapped Frey!" Michael said, throwing Alec off of him and shoving him to the ground.

"Well yeah," Alec answered, smiling in spite of his current situation, "but you wouldn't understand why, not someone like you, who associates with Vash the Stampede . . ."

"You don't even know him," Michael retorted, hitting Alec in the face again.

"Michael!"

Both boys looked up in surprise to see Frey standing in the doorway, frowning. "I can't believe you two!"

Michael reluctantly moved away from Alec, who wiped at a small cut he had received on his cheek.

"What happened to not risking hurting them by staying here?" Alec muttered, receiving a strange look from Michael.

"Well, thanks to you, I now know that Vash really _is_ the Stampede," she answered, smiling, "and if that's true then I'm pretty sure he's dealt with worse. They can handle me."

Alec frowned, standing up. "Come on Frey. We're going home."

Michael looked back and forth between the two, confused. "You mean you actually know him, Frey?" he asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I'm her best friend," Alec answered for her, glaring at Michael. "Now go home. We're leaving."

"No we're not."

"Yes we are, Frey."

"I can't believe you actually know this guy! He tried to kill Vash!"

"He was doing it for my own good," Frey shot back, suddenly on Alec's defense.

"What good was killing Vash going to do!"

"He wanted to kill her!"

"No he didn't!" Frey yelled, turning on Alec now.

"Yes he did!"

"How would you know! You big jerk, I can't believe you did that to her!"

"Don't call him that!"

"So you agree with him? He wants to kill us!"

"No, just Vash."

"Oh, and that's okay!"

"No!" Frey shouted, pulling at her hair. "Would you both just shut up! This is all just a big misunderstanding! Alec just tried to kill Vash because he thought I was in danger, even though I never was."

Sloan and Carly appeared from behind Frey, having heard the commotion. "You mean this guy tried to kill Vash?" Carly asked.

"Yeah, and his little friend almost killed Aidan at the same time," Michael muttered.

"What!" Sloan shouted, bristling.

"Don't worry, Dad." It was Aidan, who had arrived in the middle of the fight after following Michael back from his house. "Vash stopped the bullet. And that guy's gone now." Sloan frowned, still glowering.

"Get in the house, Aidan." Aidan silently obeyed, looking down and wishing Michael had just kept his mouth shut. Sloan slammed the door shut once she had entered, and Frey heard his footsteps pounding up the stairs. Then she turned and glared at the two young men still standing in the street.

"Nice one, guys."

"What are you blaming me for? It's not my fault we ended up back here, I-"

"Shut up, Alec. I'm going to bed." She turned and started down the street for her apartment. After all, her stuff was all still there, and she hadn't officially checked out.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"Sleep in the street for all I care."

"That's right, you tell him," Michael whispered. She just glared at him, her look telling him that he hadn't escaped her wrath either.

* * *

"So you came back."

"What's it to you?" Frey answered, her voice caustic. She was still mad at him.

Michael wasn't stupid. He knew she was angry with him, for good reason, and he honestly felt bad. He also knew that she had been telling the truth. Alec had only done what he did because he thought he was protecting her. But perhaps her stubbornness had rubbed off on him, because he found himself unable to apologize to her, though she obviously deserved it.

"Forget it."

"Fine."

"Why are you following me anyway?"

"I'm not. My house is this way."

"I guess I should have gone the other way, then."

Rolling his eyes, Michael quickened his pace so he wasn't so far behind her. He glanced up at her, and she quickly looked away.

"What happened to your car?"

"It broke down," she muttered.

He smiled. "So you accepted a ride from a complete stranger, having no idea where he'd take you?"

"We were stranded in the middle of the desert and half dead. What would you have done? Besides," she added, "Alec was starting to chase lizards. We were desperate." Michael laughed at her last comment, easing the tension a bit. Finally he took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

"About him-"

Frey looked up, her eyes still holding a fiery glare. Michael swallowed hard.

"I, I'm-"

"What?"

"I'm s . . . , I'm sor-"

"Sorry?"

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Well that's good to know."

"Yeah . . ." he answered apprehensively, wishing he hadn't brought it up. Thankfully for him, they had reached his house, and the front door swung open, interrupting them. Milly stepped out of the house. She stopped short at the sight of Frey.

"Frey!" She squealed, practically leaping across the room and smashing Frey in a giant bear hug. "You're back! It's so good to see you!"

"Mom! Don't kill her!" Milly quickly released Frey, who bent over, taking deep breaths.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you okay!"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said, smiling at the woman's reaction to seeing her again.

"How'd you get here?"

"The car Alec and I were traveling in broke down. Sloan happened to find us and gave us a ride back here," she explained.

"Oh, so Sloan's back!"

"Mmmhmm."

"Wait, who's Alec?"

"The guy I was with."

"That kidnaped you?"

"Well I see that Michael's told you everything."

Michael smiled sheepishly.

* * *

Several hours, awkward moments, and drawn out explanations later, Frey had finally convinced almost everyone that Alec wasn't out to kill them all. She knew it wouldn't be easy regaining Sloan's trust, though. He was obviously very protective of his daughter, and hearing that Alec's accomplice had threatened her had made Alec, and Frey somewhat, unforgivable in his eyes. She could also tell that Michael still disliked him, but found herself forgiving him for it. She couldn't really blame him, considering Alec really had kidnapped her. Milly, Carly, Vash, and Meryl had all trusted him, though, after hearing the explanation, which she was grateful for. She didn't want to have to leave with them all hating her because of her association with Alec.

Alec had slept outside Frey's apartment building, accepting Frey's indirect punishment. The whole thing had given her great satisfaction, but she knew she couldn't make him do it again. Luckily, Milly had welcomed Alec to stay at her place, though the best bed he would get would be the couch.

Alec was angry about the entire situation. He had just been trying to get Frey back home, but had somehow gotten himself involved with Vash the Stampede and his psychotic friends and family. But there was nothing he could do, at least not now. Frey wouldn't be so easily taken again, and even if she would she would never forgive him for pulling something like that a second time. His only hope lay in convincing her to go home, and his prospects in that area didn't look too bright. They would be here for awhile. Eventually she would get bored or homesick, or both, and then they could leave. Until then he'd just have to sit it out, putting up with her new friends and dealing with Sloan's hatred every day.

"Something wrong, Alec?"

"Of course not," he answered, giving Frey an obviously fake smile, "everything's just peachy."

She grinned back. "Oh, I knew you'd just love it here." He tried to ignore the underlying threat in her voice, telling him that he had better love it or he was going to get it.


	7. The Return of Knives

Whew! Finally we're done with the introductory chapters! Now on to the real plot!

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 7: The Return of Knives**_

"Michael, is your mom home?"

"No. Is something wrong, Meryl?"

"Look, I just really need to talk to her. Do you have any idea when she'll get home?"

"No."

Meryl ran an agitated hand through her ebony hair.

"Meryl, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Just tell her I need to talk to her when she gets home, okay?"

"Okay."

At that Meryl was gone, disappearing through the door she had burst through just moments before.

Fortunately for her, she spotted Milly just down the street.

"Milly! Milly!" She ran to the tall woman, who looked up in surprise at the urgency in Meryl's voice.

"Meryl? Is something wrong?"

"Listen to me Milly," she said, taking the other woman by the shoulders, "he's back."

Milly's light blue eyes reflected the fact that she had no idea what Meryl was talking about.

"Who's back, Meryl?"

"_Him_."

Understanding dawned in the brunette's wide eyes. "Oh . . ."

* * *

Michael looked up from the newspaper as the front door swung open.

"Hey Mom. Meryl was here earlier. She said she needed to . . ." he trailed off at the look on his mother's face. She looked strangely somber, her eyes unfocused. It was highly unlike her. She smiled half-heartedly at him.

"I know. She found me."

"Mom, what's going on?"

"Nothing, son. Something's just come up."

"Mom, if it's that serious, I think I have a right to know."

"It doesn't matter, dear. Don't worry about it."

Michael stood and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Vash's. He'll tell me what's going on."

Milly sighed, not trying to stop him. He'd have found out eventually anyway.

Vash wasn't home. Instead Michael found Meryl sitting alone on their porch, looking oddly depressed, much like his mother had. She didn't even notice him until he was sitting next to her.

"Hi Michael."

"Meryl, what's going on?"

"So your mom wouldn't tell you?"

"No."

Meryl sighed. "Knives is back, Michael."

Michael stiffened. "Back?"

"Vash heard a report about a mass disappearance in a town somewhere. There's no doubt in his mind that it's Knives."

"How does he know?"

"I don't know. But I believe him."

Michael sighed, leaning back so he was resting on his elbows. He had a few memories of Knives, but they were nothing like the psychotic man-killer that Vash had described to him. He just faintly remembered the time when Knives had been staying with Meryl and Vash, when he had been just a kid. The blonde man with icy blue eyes had been there to heal from what Michael had later found out was a battle with Vash. He had seemed harmless enough. But one day he had just disappeared. He remembered that when Knives had first disappeared, everyone had been really worried and on edge about it, but over the years nothing had happened and Vash's twin brother had practically been forgotten, at least by Michael.

"What's the big deal with this Knives guy anyway? Vash defeated him once before, he doesn't sound like he was that big of a deal."

"Don't be like that. You know he's Vash's twin brother." She pulled her legs up against her and wrapped her arms around them. "I'm scared for Vash, Michael. I never saw Knives myself, at least before Vash defeated him, but I saw some of the Gung-Ho Guns. They were horrible. And what frightened me most of all was just what Knives' presence did to Vash. I've never seen him like that, before or since."

Michael looked down, sobered by the strength of Meryl's feelings. Suddenly it dawned on him that his mother had been through the exact same thing. Sweet, naive Milly had indirectly experienced the effects of the most maniacal killer in history, the man bent on the genocide of the entire human race, the man responsible for his father's death.

"What are you going to tell Carly and her family, and Frey and Alec?"

"Only what they have to know. Carly and Sloan met Knives while Vash was healing him, before he disappeared, so they know a little about him. They know nothing about the plants, of course, or that he's Vash's brother, though. But they know he was a murderer, and that Vash defeated him, though they think that's just due to the fact that Vash is the Stampede. Vash will tell Aidan, Frey, and Alec the same thing. That's where he is right now. Then he'll come back here and get ready to leave."

"When is he leaving?"

"Tonight."

* * *

Frey's blood had run cold as Vash spoke. His face had been ashen, dead, unlike she had ever seen it before. And she froze in fear as the dreaded word passed his lips. Knives.

Now she stood in her room, shoving her few belongings into the bag that she had had since she met Michael. Alec walked into the room.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going with Vash."

Alec was completely taken aback. "Why?"

"I've read about this Knives guy. He's really bad, Alec. He slaughtered hundreds of people about twenty years ago, but he's been missing ever since then. No one's actually ever seen him, though, at least not anyone that's survived. Well, besides Vash."

"And you're going after him because . . ."

"I don't want that to happen again."

"Frey, you heard Vash. He took care of him before, he can do it again."

"And you didn't see the look on Vash's face, Alec. I've never seen him like that before."

"So he's a little worried. It's no big-"

"It's a big deal, Alec. It's a very big deal. Look, I have the power and ability to help Vash, and stop this guy. I'd be being selfish if I just stayed behind and left it to him."

Alec smirked. "Well, I guess there's no stopping you."

"Nope."

"Then I'm going too."

"No, Alec-"

"Frey," he cut in, "I'm not completely helpless either, you know." He pulled a small knife seemingly out of nowhere, the silver blade glinting in the dim light as he spun it adeptly with his fingers to prove his point.

"Alec, this is serious."

"Who said I'm not being serious?"

Frey almost retorted, but decided this one time it would be better not to butt heads with him. He was as stubborn as she was, if not more so, and if she was going there was no changing his mind.

"Fine. Just go get packed."

Alec answered with a cocky grin, inwardly rejoicing at his victory.

* * *

"Vash?" Vash looked up at the weak word spoken by Meryl. She was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, a brown package in her hands.

"Yes, Meryl?"

"I-I have something for you."

Sensing her fear and knowing that she was probably near tears, teetering on the edge of a breakdown, Vash set down the shirt he was putting in his bag and sat down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. She walked the short distance to the bed and sat down beside him, handing him the lumpy package.

Vash carefully took it, pulling back the brown paper slowly. He froze at what met his eyes.

"I didn't know you kept these," he choked out.

"I know you stopped using them after the last time you defeated Knives," Meryl quietly explained, "b-but I thought you might need them again someday. Milly and I went and got them one night after your fight."

Vash placed the half open package on the floor, then turned to Meryl, opening his arms to her. She gladly fell into them, her eyes finally overflowing with previously dammed up tears.

"Meryl," he whispered, barely holding back his own tears, "I love you so much."

She only started to cry harder, clinging to him as if he was life itself.

"Please," she whispered through her tears, "please Vash, promise me I won't lose you again."

He quickly bit off a sob that was beginning to emerge from his throat. "I promise, Meryl. I'll come back to you. I could never leave you."

He held her tightly, knowing it very well may be the last time he had a chance to. No matter how much he promised her, he knew he couldn't guarantee his own safety, at least not when Knives was involved. He would do everything possible to prevent anything from happening, though. She deserved it.

Reluctantly he pulled back from her, knowing he had to get going. She tried to smile at him, understanding, though her attempt wasn't very successful.

"I love you," he whispered once again.

"I love you too."

He bent over and lifted the package back off the ground, setting it on the bed, and lifting his old red coat out of it. He pulled it on, slowly, almost ceremonially, and then placed the strange yellow sunglasses he hadn't worn for six long years over his eyes for a final touch. He looked at Meryl, seeking her approval. She stepped back, looked him up and down, then smiled and nodded. Regardless of the circumstances that had brought it out, it was good to have this outfit back.

Finally he reached back into the package and withdrew a large silver object, none other than his .45 Long Colt. He sighed slightly in relief. Until now, he had relied completely on his arm as his primary weapon. But that wouldn't suffice in another battle against Knives. Suddenly he was very thankful for the fact that Meryl had had the foresight to gather this precious object almost two decades ago.

"Meryl, where is Knives' gun?"

"We left it in the desert," she answered quietly.

Vash smiled softly. "Thank you, Meryl," he whispered.

* * *

While Vash, Frey, and Alec packed, and Meryl, Carly, Aidan, and Sloan were saying their goodbyes, Michael sat at home, eating a silent dinner with his mother. She hadn't said a word about his going to see Vash. In fact, she hadn't mentioned anything about the current situation to him, even though there was no doubt that he knew. Michael stabbed the piece of chicken on his plate angrily, growing more frustrated with the fact that she kept treating him like a child.

After all, she was more childish than him by far. It had been that way for years. He couldn't help feeling like she had no right to tell him what to do when she wasn't exactly cut out to be mother, at least in his eyes. After all, Knives was back. And with the exception of when she had come home earlier, just after hearing the news, she had acted like nothing had changed. He almost wondered if she even understood the gravity of the situation. Then again, he had acted as if it was no big deal when talking to Meryl. Maybe he wasn't as different from his mother as he had thought.

"More chicken?" she asked cheerfully, as if nothing in the world was wrong.

"No, Mom."

"Alrighty."

He rolled his eyes, then looked back down at his plate, chasing the bite size piece of meat around in circles with his fork. Across from him, Milly took a huge bite, not bothering to chew slowly and politely. Not willing to take the chance of catching her in a bad mood later, though that was highly unlikely, Michael took a deep breath.

"Mom?"

"Yes dear?" she answered, looking up and blinking at him.

He decided to forget buttering her up and just take the plunge. "I'm going with Vash."

His mother's eyes at first reflected pure shock, but that was quickly washed away with a look of mild surprise.

"What are you talking about, Michael?"

"Mom, I'm not stupid. I know what's going on. I know about Knives. And I want to go with Vash."

"Oh, honey, you can't do that." Michael didn't know whether to feel angry that she was saying no or relieved that she was finally acknowledging the fact that he understood what was going on.

"Why not?" he asked indignantly.

Milly smiled at the look in his eyes, thinking that perhaps Frey had rubbed off on him.

"It's too dangerous, dear. And Vash can take care of it."

"Mom, I'm not a child! I can take care of myself, and I can help Vash!"

Milly continued to just smile at him understandingly. "I know you want to go, but it's just not worth the risk of something happening to you, not when Vash can handle everything by himself."

Michael stiffened at her words, suddenly realizing what this was all about.

"I can't believe this," he muttered, anger and shock fighting for prominence in his tone.

"Believe what?" Milly asked, appearing unfazed by his voice.

"Honestly Mom, haven't you gotten over it yet! It's been nineteen years! Move on, and stopping limiting me just because you're afraid that what happened to him will happen to me! I'm not a child, and I'm sick of you treating me like one just because _you're_ scared. I'm not going to be stupid and go get myself killed! I'm not my father!"

Milly's fork fell from her hand, clattering for a few seconds on her plate. Michael fell back a step, realizing the impact of what he had said too late. He had gone way too far.

Milly looked up at him slowly, her eyes shining with tears that threatened to overflow at a moment's notice. Michael realized with a start that it was the first time he had seen her cry. Well, the first time he had seen her _really_ cry. Yet she still smiled, though the expression was bittersweet instead of joyful.

"You're right, Michael," she started slowly, a single tear trickling down her cheek and leaving a wet trail behind it. "You're not your father." She looked down, not wanting him to see her weakness. "But you're not Mr. Vash either."

"Mom-"

"Michael Nicholas Thompson, you are not going." She quickly cut off his rebuttal by continuing. "The reason why doesn't matter. I'm your mother and I said no."

Michael shook his head in disbelief, not believing that Milly Thompson, his own mother, was standing up to him like this, so determined. The truth was that the last time she had been so unmoving was when she had been back at that old hotel, waiting for Wolfwood, insisting on staying just because he had told her to even amidst the sound of gunfire and obvious danger.

Angrily Michael stood and left the table, stomping up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door behind him. Milly watched him leave, her big blue eyes filled with sadness, then just looked back down at her plate, the tears starting to flow.

* * *

Michael pushed his door open slowly, cringing as it squeaked, then listened. They were faint, but his mother's soft sniffles were still there, the only sign of her tears. He wondered how long she had cried. It was weird seeing her like this. It wasn't like her. But then again, he had never acted like that around her, and never spoken of his father in that way.

As silently as possible he pushed his door open the rest of the way and started slowly down the stairs. Milly was standing at the sink, washing her and Michael's dishes and sniffing frequently. Her eyes were still slightly red, and Michael suddenly felt full of pity and regret. He never should have said what he did. But there was no going back, and he knew he would have to face her about it eventually.

Milly turned as she heard his footsteps from near the stairs. Quickly she wiped at her eyes and then smiled warmly. It pulled at Michael's soul.

How could she keep smiling like that, especially after what had just happened? She had always been excessively positive and optimistic, but not to the point that it was irrational. No, Michael corrected himself, she had. Her cheerfulness had never really made any sense.

"Mom, I'm . . ." almost immediately his voice faltered. He couldn't stand watching her like this. He wanted so badly to apologize, but inside he knew that what he had said was true. That didn't justify it, but he had still been right. Watching her smile like that just reminded him that she kept on treating him like the kid she still wished him to be, and that thought made it incredibly hard to apologize. Still, he forced himself to swallow his pride and took a deep breath.

"Mom, I'm really sorry for what I-"

"Don't, Michael." He stopped, looking at her in surprise.

"What?"

"I should be apologizing, dear. You were right. I shouldn't treat you like that. You're eighteen now, after all," she said, turning back to her soapy dishes, "you're a man. You can take care of yourself."

Michael stood dumbfounded. What was she saying? Milly withdrew her hands from the water and dried them on a nearby towel.

"I want to show you something, Michael." She walked towards him, then past him and up the stairs, with him following behind, still a bit shocked. She walked into her room and to the closet.

"Ok Michael, close your eyes."

"Mom . . ." he whined.

"Come on! It's a surprise!"

Deciding it would be best to humor her, Michael placed his hands over his eyes and waited. He heard his mother open the closet door, then grunt softly as if she was lifting something really heavy. He began to slide one of his fingers aside to sneak a look.

"No peeking!" she squealed.

"Sorry."

Milly placed whatever it was she had retrieved from the closet on the ground, making a significant thud and arousing Michael's curiosity.

"Alright," she said, the grin on her face apparent through her voice, "open 'em."

Michael's hands fell away from his face, then grew numb along with most of the rest of his body as his eyes took in the sight before them.

"Is, is that . . ."

Milly's smile widened at his reaction. "I knew you'd like it."

Michael took a slow step forward, running his hand down the cold steel. It seemed so familiar, though he was sure he had never seen it in his life.

"It's called the Cross Punisher."

"This was Dad's, wasn't it?"

Milly nodded. "I want you to have it, Michael."

"What?"

She smiled, though this time it was more melancholy and Michael sensed the pain behind the expression.

"Your father was a brave man, Michael. A good man. Remember him with this." Her eyes softened. "And be careful."

Taking the Cross Punisher from her and leaning it against the wall, Michael took his mother in his arms, trying to stifle a sob. She just patiently patted him on the back, softly humming a lullaby she had sung to him years ago. Michael knew how much this was probably costing her. No matter how old he got, he would always be her baby. He was all she had, but she had still decided to let him go, because she knew it was what he wanted.

"Thank you so much, Mom."

"We should probably get going. Vash will be leaving soon." Michael pulled back, nodding and lifting the Cross Punisher from its position resting against the wall.

"It's heavy," he quietly commented.

Milly smiled. "That's because it's so full of mercy." Then she linked her arm in his, silently allowing him to lead her out of the house and down the street.

* * *

"Look, it's Milly and Michael."

Meryl looked in the direction Frey was pointing, then sighed in relief, glad that they had gotten here before Vash left. Then she saw the Cross Punisher.

"What in the world is that thing?" Frey asked, having noticed it too.

"It was Michael's father's gun."

"That thing is a gun!"

Meryl nodded. By this time Milly and Michael had reached them, and Meryl had realized that it was Milly's intention to let Michael accompany Vash. She glanced at her best friend. That must have been quite the fight. Surely there had been tears.

Vash turned as he heard them approach, and smiled at the sight of the Cross Punisher held by Michael. So the two of them had brought that back too.

"So Michael, you joining us?"

"Us?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Alec and Frey are coming too."

Michael's insides turned, partly in dread of being around Alec any longer and partly in joy at the fact that Frey was going.

Frey threw her bag in the car and walked up to Milly, hugging the older woman. She would be sad to leave her behind. Milly was one of the kindest people she had ever met, and a treasured friend. Milly hugged back and then leaned over to whisper in the significantly shorter woman's ear.

"Thanks for everything, Frey. You really mean a lot to me . . . and Michael," she added with a quick wink. The way she said it made Frey blush slightly, and she was suddenly very glad that it was dark out.

Likewise, Michael was saying his goodbyes. He shook Sloan's hand briefly, who looked relieved to be getting rid of Frey and Alec, and then turned to Aidan. She was obviously distraught, and suddenly reached out hugged him, trying to suppress her tears.

"Good luck," she said in his ear, "I wish I could go with you." Michael glanced over her shoulder at Sloan, understanding as he watched him that Aidan's desire to accompany them would never be fulfilled. He pulled back and smiled, patting her on the shoulder to assure her that everything would be alright. Then he joined Vash, Alec, and Frey in the car. Vash looked back at Meryl one more time and winked from behind his yellow glasses, then started the car and pushed down on the gas.

Frey watched them sadly as they disappeared into the distance. Sloan and Carly had already turned and were headed home, but Aidan, Meryl, and Milly still stood where they had left them. Milly was standing on her tip-toes, as if she wasn't tall enough already, waving enthusiastically. Frey waved back, smiling slightly, then slid into her seat next to Alec, sighing.

"Come on," Meryl said, putting an arm around each of the other womens' shoulders, "let's go home."


	8. Rifles and Rats

Is anyone even still reading this? Because it's really kind of pointless for me to keep posting a story no one's reading. It'd be really nice to get some response. Suzu

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 8: Rifles and Rats**_

Just over an hour had passed since Vash, Frey, Alec, and Michael had left. And Aidan was still awake. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly. Her bright red hair was spread out on the pillow, framing her face like the sun's corona. Sighing deeply, she turned on her side and hit her pillow, growing steadily more impatient. She could hear her parents' faint voices from downstairs. They were laughing about something. She grinned slightly, glad that her father was back, especially for her mother's sake, but at the same time wishing he had chosen a more opportune time to return. Then again, if not for him, Alec and Frey wouldn't have been there.

After what seemed like an eternity, she heard her parents' footsteps on the stairs. They both stopped at her bedroom door, and she quickly closed her eyes and made her breathing sound deep as they pushed the door open a crack and peeked in. After they were convinced she was asleep, they continued on to their own room.

Aidan waited for a little while longer, then crept out of her room and to their door. Sure enough, their breathing was deep and slow. They were asleep. Quickly she shot back to her own room, closing the door behind her, and began to change. She slipped on some black pants Frey had picked out for her and a white shirt with sleeves to her elbows. Then she quickly braided her hair, which fell midway down her back, and pulled a bag out from under her bed, filled with clothes, money, and food she knew her parents wouldn't miss. Taking a deep breath, she opened her door and walked slowly down the hall, creeping into the room of her parents. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust to the deep darkness in their room, but then she spotted it. Her father's rifle was laying on the floor on the other side of the room, next to the luggage he hadn't unpacked yet. With a sigh she realized that he probably wouldn't be unpacking it at all. He'd be gone again before he could.

Shaking that thought out of her mind, Aidan tip-toed across the wooden floor and carefully lifted the rifle, then dug around in the bag next to it and filled her own bag with sufficient ammunition. Holding her breath, she crossed the room again, stopping only once when her father shifted to his other side in his sleep, and then was gone.

Slowly she made her way down the stairs, careful to skip the one that always creaked. Once she had reached the outside and closed the front door behind her, she headed down the street at a sprint.

Only a few minutes later she reached her destination. Another young woman, this one with short blonde hair and dark brown eyes, greeted her.

"You're late."

"Sorry," Aidan answered, not bothering to explain why she hadn't been on time. She was breathing heavily, but more out of relief than exhaustion.

"Are you sure you don't want a car?" the other girl asked.

"Yeah, I can't afford one. Just give me a thomas."

The blonde girl shrugged. "Whatever."

She entered the building she was standing in front of, and came out a few moments later holding onto the reins of a brown thomas. Aidan quickly handed over the required fee, strapped her belongings onto the animal, and then heaved herself onto it.

"Thanks," she murmured, turning the thomas.

"You really think you can catch a car on that thing?"

Aidan smiled. "I can try." Then she snapped the reins and left the other girl in her wake, who just shook her head at her friend's irrationality.

"Have it back in a week!" she called. Aidan just waved, hearing the other girl's yell but having no idea what she was saying.

* * *

The sudden stop of the thomas jolted Aidan awake. As the thomas stopped, however, she kept moving, and landed head first in the sand.

"What is it?" she asked the skittish animal, brushing the sand off of herself. The thomas had stopped at the top of a hill, looking down at the drop ahead of them. Aidan realized quickly that the sun was out, which meant she had been riding all night. She had been pushing the thomas at a rapid pace for most of that time, until the last hour or so, in which she had fallen asleep. She didn't know how fast the thomas had traveled during that time. She also took note of the fact that the drop they were facing wasn't very steep, at least not as steep as some of the others they had taken. There had to be something else holding the animal back.

Standing up, Aidan scanned the surrounding area for anything out of the ordinary. Sure enough, just at the bottom of the hill, there was a car, filled with a few men that looked like those Frey had described that had been in the mobs that had chased her. Quickly Aidan jumped back, out of the area where they might see her, and took the thomas with her. After satisfying the thomas a few paces away with some food, she crawled back over to the edge of the hill and looked down. The men were excited about something, pointing into the distance. She followed their fingers with her eyes, and spotted another car in the distance, this one parked. She froze. It couldn't be . . .

Clumsily she ran back to the thomas, tripping in the sand, and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Holding them to her eyes, she looked at the distant car again. It was! It was Vash, along with everyone else. They appeared to be sleeping. Aidan raised an eyebrow. Why would they all sleep at the same time? Couldn't they take shifts driving or something?

This train of thought was interrupted as the car just below her started up. She shrunk back, making sure no one saw her, and watched as the car headed for Vash's. What were they doing? Were they thieves or something?

Aidan ran back to the thomas again, this time grabbing her father's rifle. She held it up as she had seen Sloan do before, then squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, praying that she didn't kill anyone. She pulled the trigger.

Several yells were heard from the car, and she opened her eyes to see it careening off course. She had shot one of the tires. Grinning to herself, she discharged the shell and prepared to shoot again. One of the men had looked back though, and seen her. She couldn't tell what they were saying, but they were obviously angry, as they began pouring out of the car and up the hill after her. Suddenly she wished she had waited a little longer before shooting. That way they would have had a longer distance to run before reaching her.

She jumped to her feet and ran to the thomas, getting on. She wisely kept the rifle in hand, then kneed the thomas in the side so it was running as fast as it could in the opposite direction. Some of the men had already reached the top of the hill, however, and were quickly gaining on her. How they were so fast was a mystery to her.

Realizing that she probably wasn't going to escape in these conditions, she pulled her bag out of its secure position to search its contents for anything that might help her. Of course, there was nothing. She didn't know what had made her think there would be. Perhaps her complete terror had overpowered her sense.

She zipped the bag back shut and hung it over her shoulder, holding her breath and leaning closer to the thomas' neck in an effort to make it run faster. But it was tired from the pace it had kept almost all night long, and Aidan noticed that it was beginning to falter. She heard a buzzing noise somewhere, but ignored it, focused only on going as fast she could.

Suddenly she felt a hand grab the back of her shirt. She screamed and squirmed, trying to release the grip someone had on her. The arm was strong, though, and she was slowly being pulled off the thomas. When she was close enough, whoever had grabbed her shirt completely slipped his arm around her waist and heaved her off of the thomas. She screamed again in pure horror and hit the arm desperately, though she knew her weak blows weren't helping her. Suddenly the thomas was gone, in the hand of another man, disappearing from her view. It was then that she realized that she was speeding away. In shock she turned in the man's grasp to look at him. Alec's emerald eyes looked down at her, a sandy brown eyebrow raised.

"You okay?"

Aidan blushed furiously and nodded, wishing she hadn't screamed like such a baby.

"Get back here!" Everyone looked back, besides Vash, who was driving. The men were in the car again, somehow managing to keep going with a flat tire.

"I swear Michael," Frey said, "if I had a nickel for every time I've been chased by an angry mob since I met you . . ."

Without thinking, Aidan lifted her rifle and fired, blowing out the other front tire. The driver hit the steering wheel and started to yell, screaming what Aidan could only imagine to be a stream of curses directed right at her. She sighed and sunk into her seat next to Alec, suddenly wishing she had never tried to pull this off. Frey just laughed at the look on her face.

"Nice one Aidan! Since when could you shoot a gun!" Aidan just moaned, knowing she was as good as dead once her father found out about this. It was probably too late, though. He would have noticed that both Aidan and his rifle were missing by now.

Alec settled back into his seat, as did Frey, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Vash hadn't really reacted at all, which was fortunate since he had the wheel. As she opened her eyes, however, Aidan saw Michael, who was sitting in the passenger seat, staring at her, his eyes open wide and his jaw practically hitting his seat.

"Did . . . did you just _shoot a gun_!"

Aidan laughed uncomfortably. "Um, yes."

At that Michael started to laugh. "Wow, I never though I'd see the day. I can't believe your parents let you come after us!"

Aidan's face fell.

"Uh, they _did_ let you come, didn't they?" Frey asked, seeing her reaction.

"Well, not really."

"Not really?"

"I sort of snuck out."

Michael blanched. "You snuck out! And you stole your father's gun!" He shook his head, turning back around. "Are you crazy?"

She just groaned.

"Ah, give her a break, guys. She just wanted to come along." It was Vash.

"So are you going to take me back?"

"Nope." Aidan's eyes filled with gratitude as she sighed in relief. She would escape her father's wrath yet.

"So where are we going?"

"Tonim Town."

"Oh, that's where you and Frey met, isn't it Michael? Why are we going there?"

"We're just going to stay there for the night. We decided it would be nice to stay in a hotel instead of the car again. Then we'll be on our way in the morning."

"Where are we going after that?"

"Wherever Knives is."

Aidan looked down. That was right. This wasn't just a game, an opportunity for her to prove to her parents that she could take care of herself. This was dangerous. She had forgotten about that aspect, and her actions had jeopardized her life. It was too late for turning back now, though. Her thomas was gone, and she couldn't ask Vash to take her back to December. She would have to face the danger with the rest of them.

* * *

"Aidan . . . Aidan, wake up." Aidan opened her big brown eyes to see Frey leaning over her, gently shaking her by the shoulder. She sat up, rubbing her eyes. "We're here."

Aidan climbed out of the car, taking the rifle and bag she had been lucky enough to save with her. They were parked in front of a hotel. She followed Frey inside, where the men were already standing. Vash had finished talking with the man at the counter, and turned around, handing Frey and Michael a key.

"Girls, your room is number 23, guys, you've got 14." He glanced at Michael and Alec. "Try not to kill each other, okay?" Both boys gave a short "pft" sound, but said nothing more.

"Where are you sleeping, Vash?"

"I've got my own room."

"Oh, that's real fair."

"When you're the one paying for it, you can have your own room too."

Michael just rolled his eyes and lifted his luggage, heading for his room, followed by a reluctant Alec.

It took Frey and Aidan a few minutes to find their room, but they finally located it down the hall on the second floor. Frey opened the door and switched the light on. Aidan shuddered as she thought she saw something move in the corner, like it was scurrying away from the newly revealed light. Immediately suspicious of the hotel, Aidan placed her things on one of the two beds, then peeked under it. Next she pulled down the covers on the bed, checking for anything that might be alive. Once she was partly convinced that it was safe, she sat down on the bed, jumping up and down a little to check the springs.

Frey just plopped down on her bed, burying her head in the pillow and sighing.

"It's so good to have a bed to sleep in," she murmured, "last night was awful."

Aidan smiled and stood back up, then began pulling her clothes out of her bag and hanging them in the closet.

"What are you doing?"

"Hanging up my clothes."

"Why?"

"I always do this on family vacations. You know, it makes it easier."

Frey sighed, sitting up. "Look Aidan, this isn't a petite little family vacation. We're tracking the most dangerous man on this planet. We'll be gone in the morning, and you'll just have to take them all back down anyway. Now put the shirt back in the bag."

Aidan obeyed silently, hating the fact that everyone else had to treat her like she was helpless. What she hated even more was the fact that she knew she deserved it.

"Don't look so glum, it's not a big deal."

"Yeah, right."

Aidan grabbed her pajamas and padded quietly over to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She decided to take a quick shower, then changed into her silky pj's, the material woven into intricate patterns of various shades of green. As she reentered the room she noticed that Frey was asleep. The only modifications she had made to her clothing, however, was taking off her shoes and socks and trading in her black shirt for a large gray one.

As quietly as possible Aidan pulled her covers down and crawled into bed, turning off the light after one last inspection of the room. A few minutes passed, and she soon realized that Frey wasn't asleep at all, as the other girl sat up and pulled down her own covers.

"Goodnight."

Instead of answering, Aidan sighed and turned so she was laying on her back.

"Frey, do you think it was stupid of me to come out here?"

It was quiet for a few moments, then, "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, don't pretend you don't know. You and Vash and Michael and Alec are all used to this kind of thing. Vash and Michael have their guns, Alec's got his knives, and you with your powers-"

"And you're amazing with a rifle."

Aidan frowned in the darkness. "I've never even used one before, Frey. I was just lucky."

"All the more reason to call you amazing."

Aidan bit back tears. Frey wasn't being serious at all. She was just trying to avoid having to answer truthfully.

"Aidan, why'd you come after us anyway?"

Aidan waited a few moments before answering, considering the real reason. "Well, I guess I just felt left out, is all. And I wanted to prove to my parents that I was capable of handling things on my own. I guess I was wrong," she added dejectedly.

Frey ignored her friend's sorrow. "Oh come on," she pressed, "what's the _real_ reason you came?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Don't play dumb. I saw you when we saved you from those guys back there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't deny it! You should have seen the look on your face when you realized Alec had pulled you into the car."

Aidan started. "What do you mean?" she asked carefully.

"You were blushing . . ."

"I was just surprised!" Aidan suddenly shouted, surprising even herself with her fervor.

"Mmmhmm . . ."

Aidan fell into silence, groaning inside her head.

"Someone's got a crush on Ale-"

Frey was cut off as a pillow flew at her face, smothering her. She pulled it off and started laughing, Aidan moaning at Frey's realization the whole time.

Suddenly Aidan fell deathly silent, and Frey's laughter faded as she recognized the halt of the moans coming from the other bed.

"Aidan?" Silence.

"Aidan, are you okay?"

"Frey-" Aidan's voice was tense, her word uttered in a hoarse whisper.

"Yes?"

"I-I think there's something in my bed."

"What are you talking about?"

Aidan didn't answer, waiting silently. Suddenly something brushed against her foot. She let out a high-pitched scream, which was followed by a hard thud on the floor.

Frey dove for the lamp and turned it on. Aidan was laying on the floor, tangled in her sheets as she wrestled to get out of them, still screaming. Frey jumped back as something in the mess of blankets squeaked.

"Oh my gosh!"

Aidan finally freed herself from her blankets, and ran to the other side of the room, grabbing a broom. She walked to stand next to Frey, and both stood, watching the pile on the floor. Suddenly the top of the pile shifted slightly, and a pink nose stuck out from under the top blanket. Before Frey could even react, Aidan was screaming again, beating the blankets with the broom as hard as she could. A rat darted out from under the blows directed at it and scurried under Frey's bed. Aidan jumped onto her bed, breathing heavily and gripping the broom tightly in her hands.

Frey fell to her knees, peeking under the bed. "What are you doing!" Aidan cried, "that thing might be rabid for all we know!"

Frey ignored both Aidan and the heavy knocks at the door, thinking it was probably an angry hotel owner wondering what all the racket was for.

"Frey," Aidan whispered anxiously, "someone's at the door . . ."

"So?" she said in response, still searching under the bed for the small animal.

"Should we get it?"

"No."

After a few moments the knocks died down, and Michael and Alec, who stood in the hallway, turned away from the door, assuming everything was fine. They had nearly reached the stairs to return to their own floor when another scream reverberated from the girls' room.

"Frey!"

Michael forced the door open just as a huge gray rat flew into the wall, inches from his head. The slightly injured rodent, after falling back to the floor, scurried between his legs and into the hallway, disappearing. Michael looked up at the two girls in surprise.

Aidan stood on her bed, her face pale, clutching a broom in her hands. The covers from her bed were spread out over the floor. Frey sat on the floor, the look from when the rat had jumped at her from under the bed still frozen on her face. Her arm still hovered in mid-air, in the position it had been in as she had chucked the rat across the room. Michael and Alec glanced at each other, then back at the girls. Michael smiled in amusement.

"You two going to be okay?" Frey frowned and stood up, brushing herself off.

"It wasn't anything we couldn't handle," she said defensively.

"I can see that." It was Alec this time. Blushing, Aidan hopped off of her bed and returned the broom to its former position.

"Goodnight, boys," Frey muttered, "we'll see you in the morning."

Grinning, Michael pulled the door back shut. He and Alec glanced at each other once more, then both burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

Frey scowled as the boys' laughter reached her ears through the door. Aidan just picked up a pillow and curled up on her bed, not bothering to pick up the mess on the floor. Frey grabbed the top blanket from her bed and threw it to Aidan, understanding that she had no desire to use her own blankets after she had found a rat in them. Soon Frey followed Aidan's example and climbed into bed, muttering as she went. She was still glowering over the embarrassment of the situation when she heard soft sniffles from the other side of the room.

"Aidan? Aidan, are you crying?" Aidan didn't answer.

"Aidan, what's wrong?"

Curling up into a tighter ball, Aidan answered softly. "I never should have come, Frey. Like you said, this is dangerous, and here I am screaming over a stupid rat."

Frey sat up, pity apparent on her face. "Aidan, the guys were just teasing. They don't blame you for it." She smirked. "In fact, I'd like to see their reactions if one of them found a rat in _their_ bed."

Aidan laughed weakly, brushing at her eyes. "Thanks, Frey."

Frey smiled genuinely, falling back onto her bed and turning off the light.

"Goodnight, Aidan."

"Goodnight."

"Oh, and Aidan?"

"Yeah?"

"You _were_ blushing."

* * *

Carly awoke to find herself alone. It didn't surprise her at first. After all, she had been waking up alone for months now. But then she noticed the bag on the floor beyond the bed, the bag that hadn't been there the last time she had arisen. She sat up.

"Sloan?"

Her husband's head appeared from the other side of the bed. He was squatting next to it.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing," he said bluntly.

Carly's hand gripped the bed sheet, fear taking hold of her heart. "Already?" she asked weakly.

He answered her without looking up. "Aidan's gone. So is my rifle."

"What!"

At this point Sloan looked up at his wife, and stood. "I'm going after her. They were headed toward Tonim Town. I'll go get her, then be back as soon as I can."

"How do you know she went after Vash?" Carly asked, even as she realized what a ridiculous question that was. Sloan decided not to answer.

The calvary officer heaved what he had packed up over his shoulder. Then he turned to Carly, and leaning over, kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, smiling. Then he turned and placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Sloan."

He paused. "Yes?"

"I'm going with you."

"No Carly, you need to stay here and take care of things at the restaurant."

"Forget the restaurant, Sloan, this is our daughter."

Sloan bit back another retort as he saw the look on his wife's face. Sighing, he let his bag slide back to the floor.

"Alright. Hurry and get packed."

Less than half-an-hour later, Carly and Sloan placed the last piece of luggage in their car. Sloan made sure it was secure, then turned to climb into the driver's side of the car.

"Carly! Sloan! Wait!" Their two heads turned. Milly and Meryl were emerging from Milly's house, suitcases in hand.

Sloan moaned. "What are you two doing?"

"We're coming with you," Milly answered, as if it wasn't already obvious.

"Look, we're just going to get Aidan," Sloan started to explain.

"I knew it!" Milly exclaimed. "I told Meryl that that must have been what happened. Why else would you leave so quickly without telling us?" She smiled victoriously.

"You two don't need to come."

"Well we want to."

"What about the orphanage?"

"We got someone to look after it."

"Honestly, I don't want-"

"Give it up, Sloan, we're coming with you whether you like it or not," Meryl said as she began loading her own luggage. "Besides, Milly and I are supposed to keep an eye on Vash the Stampede, remember?"

Sloan frowned at her use of that old excuse to convince him to allow them to come. Rolling his eyes and growing impatient, he just sighed and shook his head.

"Whatever. Just hurry and get in the car." Grinning, the two women climbed into the back behind Carly and Sloan, and the four were off.


	9. Haunting Reminiscence

thanks so much to my reviewers! You guys are great! Here's the next chapter! (But what happened to Bouzouki Joe and Ashari!)

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 9: Haunting Reminiscence**_

"Michael?"

"Yeah, Frey?"

"What is it with this Knives guy, anyway?"

"What do you mean? Vash told you about how he defeated him nineteen years ago."

"I'm not dumb, Michael. There's more that you aren't telling us. I mean, am I supposed to believe that Vash just happened to be on a stroll one day and came across a psychotic killer and decided to battle him?"

Michael quickly glanced over his shoulder before turning his eyes back to the road, making sure that Vash, Aidan, and Alec, who sat in the back seat, were really asleep. The three had dozed off after they had been on the road again for an hour or two this morning. Sure enough, they were all out like a light. He would have suspected Vash of faking it, if not for the fact that he knew the Stampede had had more than one drink last night. Sighing, he glanced at Frey out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you promise not to repeat anything I'm about to tell you?"

Frey's expression changed from teasing to serious immediately. Solemnly she nodded. So he began.

He told her everything he knew, with the exception of the fact that Vash and Knives were brothers, and inhuman.

First he explained everything there was to know about the Gung-Ho Guns. Frey held her breath as he described each one, ending with the infamous Legato.

"Vash killed Legato," Michael said, his face ashen. "That was just before he fought that last battle with Knives."

He continued, Frey's countenance darkening with every passing moment. He explained that after the battle, Vash had brought the injured Knives back with him. He, Meryl, and Milly had moved to December at that point.

"After a while, though, when I was still just a baby, Knives mysteriously disappeared. I can't remember anything else from when I was that young, and I don't remember a lot about Knives, but his face is still clear in my mind, as if I saw him yesterday. Somehow I've never been able to forget."

Frey murmured something inaudible, making Michael pause. When she said nothing, however, he fell silent as well.

The two were left to mill through their own thoughts for a few minutes, until Frey interrupted the uncomfortable silence with a soft question.

"There's something else, isn't there? There's something you're not telling me."

Michael sighed. "Am I that apparent?"

She nodded quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Michael began the end to his explanation. "Remember that one Gung-Ho Gun that I told you about, Chapel the Evergreen?" Frey nodded, showing that she remembered. Michael's next words were his softest yet. "My father was his apprentice."

Frey said nothing, knowing he would continue momentarily and not wanting to force it out of him and cause him to draw back from her.

"That's right," he said, smiling bitterly, "my father was one of the Gung-Ho Guns. Well, he was supposed to be, at least."

He proceeded to tell her everything about Nicholas D. Wolfwood, his position as a priest, the orphanage, and his less innocent affiliation with Knives. He told her about his mission against Vash, the one he had abandoned and ended up dying for.

"I think Vash left a lasting impression on him," he said, choking up, "and so did my mom. They convinced him to change his ways."

Frey smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. Her usual self would have at least teased him about getting so emotional over it, but she didn't want to ruin the moment he had just shared with her. She sensed that this was a subject on which he rarely spoke, and the fact that he had shared his feelings with her meant more than she had imagined it could.

"Thanks, Michael."

He didn't answer, just nodding as Aidan began to stir from the back seat.

* * *

"Where are w-" Alec bit off his question and his hands fell away from the sleepy eyes he had been rubbing as they reached the crest of a hill and the distant city came into view. A chill ran up and down his spine. Even though they hadn't arrived yet, the city seemed to emit an eerie aura, felt even from this far away. He knew that everyone else had the same feeling as the car fell suddenly silent. Alec clamped his mouth shut, almost afraid to break the silence with his voice, as eerie as it was. Thankfully, Frey answered his unasked question for all of them.

_It's Cerin City._

Vash awoke as the car neared the city. He took a few moments to get his bearings, then sat up straight and looked at the distant town. His face darkened.

"This is it."

Aidan glanced up at him, then softly whispered. "Vash, why are we here?"

"This is the place," he answered solemnly, "the place where Knives was last reported to have been seen." Everyone else in the car tensed at that statement, their heartbeats growing steadily faster as they neared the outskirts of town and the eerie feelings only heightened. Michael turned the wheel and pulled into the city. There wasn't a soul to be found. Everything was completely silent. A few scattered papers lay in the road, shifting slightly in the soft breeze, but that was the only movement. The group parked in front of the nearest building, a restaurant, following Vash's lead and walking inside to see what they might find.

Glasses that were still filled sat on the tabletops. The "open" sign was left hanging on the door. Coats hung on the coat racks. It was as if everyone in the city had disappeared at a moment's notice, leaving everything exactly as it was.

"Get back in the car." It was Vash. Frey looked up at him apprehensively, but her protest died as she saw the look on his face. Silently she submitted, followed by everyone else. This time Vash climbed into the driver's seat, started the car, and continued down the road without a word. Aidan found herself sinking slowly into her seat.

As the last of the buildings fell away behind them and they were thrust suddenly into an open area, Vash stopped the car. Frey looked up to see what had stopped him, then froze.

_Knives_.

The word was written in red, right across town square, on what she assumed to be town hall. The crimson letters appeared to be dripping.

_As if . . . they're . . . blood . . ._

Vash pushed his door open and ran to the word. Frey's eyes followed his footsteps, and her blood ran cold. Aidan screamed, clapping her hand over her mouth and falling back.

The square was covered with bodies. Their faces were pale, lifeless, the expression of fear from their last moments frozen in time on their fallen facades.

Michael stiffened, realizing that the man that had killed these men and women had indirectly killed his own father. Was this what his father had looked like in his last moments? Michael's thoughts immediately turned to his mother. Had she seen massacres like this? Shocked, he realized she had probably seen much worse. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed with guilt, as he began to see the wisdom in her attempts to stop him from going.

He stepped out of the car and walked to the nearest body. It was a man, probably in his mid-thirties. He was laying over a woman, a terrified look in her dull eyes. He had been trying to protect her. Michael fell back as he noticed another hand protruding from under the man. This one was smaller, more delicate. There were children here too.

Michael squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists at his sides before falling to his knees in defeat. What was he thinking? How could he expect to stand up to something like this?

Aidan closed her eyes and cringed as Alec leaned over the side of the car to vomit. He leaned back into the car, his face pale, not only because of the fact that he had just gotten sick. Hot tears began to crawl down Aidan's cheeks. Even with the strange feelings that the city practically emitted, she had expected a mediocre bandit at most. A massacre was the furthest thing from her mind. There must have been at least a hundred . . .

Vash fell to his knees in front of the name just as Frey reached him.

"It's written in blood," he murmured, pointing weakly at the word. It was all Frey could do to not openly gape at him. He almost looked like he was crying. Vash the Stampede had been reduced to tears.

In reality, Vash was nearly shocked beyond tears. This hadn't happened for nearly two decades now, and the revival of his brother's trademark had thrown him into internal chaos. He hadn't thought he would ever have to go through this again, much less drag Frey, Michael, Aidan, and Alec down with him. He hadn't even completely believed the reports, thinking perhaps it was just a hoax. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time the authorities had exaggerated. That was why he had allowed everyone else to come along with him. If he had known Knives had really returned, he never would have endangered their lives like this.

"Most of them escaped," he murmured, mostly to himself, "but these . . ." He turned, motioning to the numberless dead laying at their feet. Frey felt herself overwhelm with anger.

"He had no right to do this," she said, her voice not betraying her emotions, though her expression clearly did. "He had no right to kill, to take innocent lives." Vash started and looked up at her. The red glare in her eyes had returned. In spite of the entire situation, Vash smiled. In her passion, Frey looked just like Rem again.

He sighed. "This is even worse than last time," he murmured.

"What do you mean?"

"Last time the people just disappeared. They were found again eventually, though some of them never quite recovered from the trauma. This time though, Knives showed no mercy. This was an unrestrained slaughter."

* * *

Alec smashed down the last mound of dirt with a shovel and wiped at his brow. Somehow they had gotten all of the bodies buried, but it had taken hours. The sun had nearly set by now, and everyone else had left, him insisting that he could finish. His chest heaved up and down in a deep sigh. He had to get Frey out of here now. It had been fun while it was still just a game, but he had humored her long enough. It wasn't safe anymore, and no matter how powerful either of them was, he couldn't risk anything.

He heard soft footsteps from behind him and turned to find Aidan standing there. Her red hair practically glowed in the dying light. She held a piece of wood in her arms, a skinnier strip of wood attached to it. He stepped back as Aidan, still puffy-eyed and sniffling, moved forward and pushed the skinny end into the ground. She stepped back, allowing him to read it.

It was a simple epitaph, dedicated to those that had died at the hand of Knives. Alec raised his eyebrows, surprised and somewhat touched at Aidan's thoughtfulness. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but he looked away, shouldering the shovel and turning to walk away as if he hadn't even noticed the sign. Her face fell, and she looked back at the sign, sighing heavily.

* * *

The unsureness of night brought a greater fear on the group. They had decided it would be best to remain in Cerin City for the night, since it was already dark and they all needed rest anyway. They had picked out one of the buildings furthest from town square, a moderately sized bed-and-breakfast. Frey, Aidan, Michael, and Alec had all picked out their own rooms on the second floor, while Vash insisted on staying on the first, just in case. Frey had just slipped off her jacket and collapsed into the huge puffy chair next to her bed when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Michael's head appeared from behind the door. Frey smiled at the sight of his blue eyes. Even when things had fallen beyond hope, they were still bright and reassuring.

"Can I help you?" Smiling, he entered the room and leaned against the wall.

"Are you okay?"

Frey frowned. "Why are you suggesting that I might not be?"

"Hey, I just-"

"I'm fine, Michael."

"You're hopeless, you know that?"

"Funny, it seems I've been told that before."

"Hmm," he replied, scratching the coal black hair on his head, "I wonder why?"

She just smiled instead of answering, allowing silence to fall on the room. Michael walked to the window and pulled open the curtains.

"It's going to rain."

Frey bolted upright in her chair.

"What?"

Michael turned and smiled, hearing the shock in her voice. "Strange, huh? I can't even remember the last time it rained."

"Six years."

"What?"

"The last time I saw rain, I was twelve. It was six years ago."

"Oh." Michael didn't really seemed disturbed at her strange answer. He looked back out the window for a few moments, then turned back to her.

"Frey, I want you to have something."

She arched a questioning eyebrow. Michael held up his right hand in front of him, then pulled a shiny silver ring from off of one of his fingers. He held it out in front of him.

"Here."

Frey quickly shook her head, holding her hands out in front of her to symbolize 'no.' Michael smiled wryly.

"Frey, stop being so stubborn and just take it."

"I can't accept-"

"Frey." His word wasn't harsh or angry, but was still strong enough to cut off any further protest from her. She silently watched as he grabbed her by the wrist and placed the ring in her palm, pushing her fingers closed around it.

His face took on a serious expression as he spoke again. "We're in this together now, Frey," he explained. "There's no going back anymore. And in case anything happens to me," he paused, the impact of his words hitting both him and her, "I just want you to have something to remember me by."

"Michael, don't talk like that-"

"Frey," he interrupted, "you can stop pretending to be so strong."

Frey stopped, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You saw it too, Frey. No matter how strong you are, you're not stupid. You know I could easily meet the same fate."

She began to protest again, but he cut off her words with a quick smile.

"Don't worry, though. I'm sure everything will be fine." He stood, walking back to the door. "Goodnight."

Without another word he pulled the door shut behind him, and Frey heard his footsteps growing steadily softer as he disappeared down the hall. She opened her hand. The ring still sat there, glimmering in the soft light. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew he was right. The worst could happen to any of them, not just him. She had gotten herself in a big mess this time.

Turning, she dug around in her bag for a few moments, and soon pulled out a long silver chain, only slightly duller than the ring. She slipped Michael's ring over it, then fastened the clasp under her long raven hair. She looked in the mirror. It was comforting, having a small piece of Michael hovering always near her, so close to her heart.

A huge clap of thunder shook the building. Frey jumped, involuntarily grabbing the ring and looking to the window. There was a quick flash among the falling rain drops. But she knew it hadn't been lightning.

Feeling suddenly cold, she pulled her jacket back on and walked slowly to the window, her eyes searching the darkness for the source of the movement she had seen. For a moment she expected to see Alec appear, with another crazy plan to take her away, but she quickly shook that thought out of her mind. She unlocked the window and slid it slowly open, sticking her head into the cold air. The rain was inches from her face, but still missed it due to the small overhang above her window.

"Hello . . ."

Her only answer was another clap of thunder and a flash of lightning, at which she fell back into her room. Her shock hadn't come from the sudden light and loud noise, however.

She tried to scream, but found herself unable to even move. The light had revealed a figure sitting on the railing of the fire escape, with an expressionless face that struck her with utter surprise and horror. The man stepped forward, the window shattering seemingly of its own volition. Light flooded onto the dripping figure, and her fears were confirmed.

_Please, no._

The man's piercing yellow eyes fell on her, boring into her soul. His wet blue hair clung to his face, appearing darker than usual. The hair on the back of her neck rose as his chilling voice filled her ears.

"What did you expect to happen if you came after our master?"

She suddenly felt control over her legs return to her, and she fell back a step. Her only movement was soon stopped, however, as a power far beyond her own began to overtake her body. As a last attempt to remain standing before she fell to her knees, she fumbled for the table next to her bed, but her only accomplishment was knocking the gray sunglasses that had previously sat there onto the floor, splitting one of the lenses. Her knees cracked against the hard wood floor, but a larger concern arose as her vision began to blur and she began to feel lightheaded. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the man's hand, reaching out to take her away and do with her what it would. And there was nothing she could do about it.

* * *

Michael stretched and yawned loudly as the sun hit his face. He was sprawled out on his bed, his blankets askew and halfway on the floor from his movements during the night. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, then climbed out of bed. Grabbing his black pants and the navy blue shirt Frey had once bought him, he opened his door and headed for the bathroom.

On the way down the hall, he stopped at Frey's room and pushed the door open to see if she was still asleep. An empty bed greeted his eyes.

"Frey?" He stepped into the room, thinking maybe she was in the chair or something. But she wasn't there. At first he shrugged it off, thinking she must already be downstairs, but then a cold breeze flowed in through the window. He glanced over at it, and discovered the glass to be laying on the floor in a million pieces.

"Frey!" He ran to the window, his foot falling on something larger than a piece of glass with a soft 'crunch.' He lifted his foot, and discovered Frey's already cracked sunglasses. His eyebrows narrowed in anger as he picked them up. He followed his first instinct. He ran to Alec's room.

Michael received an even greater surprise when he found Alec asleep in bed. So he hadn't taken her again. Multiple worst-case scenarios already popping into his head, Michael ran down the stairs, calling for Vash.

* * *

"Are you sure she was kidnapped, Michael?" Vash asked from his position kneeling next to the broken window.

"That's what you said last time, Vash," Michael answered, scowling from next to the door. "She would have left a note otherwise."

Vash sighed and nodded, realizing that his forced optimism wasn't going to change anything. Frey had been taken against her will, again, but this time the circumstances were much more serious.

"I'm going to go tell Aidan and Alec," Vash said, standing. He glanced at Michael over his shoulder as reached the door. "Take your time." He closed the door softly behind him.

Michael's scowl almost immediately melted into a face of confusion and pain. He slammed his fist angrily against the wall, blaming himself for letting her be taken again.

_I should have been there._

He leaned his forehead against the wall as tears began to sting his eyes. Cursing himself even more for crying, and knowing it wouldn't help anything, he sank to his knees in hopelessness. Even if he had been there, would he have been able to save her? Was he strong enough? No, he told himself. He was useless to her. And the tears began to run.

* * *

Vash trudged slowly down the stairs, his thoughts tangled in a web of confusion and disarray. Not only had the reports about his brother been proven beyond doubt, but now Frey had mysteriously disappeared. Could it have been Knives? And if it was, what was his purpose in doing it? What was he plotting?

Vash's mind relaxed considerably as he heard a piano from another room nearby. Whoever was playing it was in the middle of a soft song, almost like a lullaby. Vash leaned against the door to the room from which the noise came and sighed. Suddenly the music stopped, and the pianist began to press different keys for another song. Vash listened in mild surprise to the familiar song for a few minutes, until a soft voice began to accompany the piano.

"So . . . on the first night, from somewhere a pebble falls onto the earth . . ."

Vash smiled at the comforting words that had almost incessantly run through his head since the day Rem had died. He pushed the door open slowly to observe the musician. It was Alec. The words continued, running from "the first night" all the way to the eighth morning. Vash took a slow, deep breath.

"Well . . . in a new sky, the song that told of everything echoes, sound life . . . sound life."

Alec turned in surprise as he heard the other voice from behind him, quietly finishing off the last stanza of the song. He blushed, embarrassed to have been caught playing the piano and singing.

"I didn't know anyone else knew that song," he offered, wanting to break the silence.

Vash nodded. "It's been around for a long time. I'm surprised you know it."

Alec smiled. "Yeah, I only know it because Frey did. She used to love to sing it."

Vash's face darkened. Alec didn't know about Frey yet. Deciding to wait to tell him, Vash turned to leave and continue milling through his thoughts. He paused at the door.

"Alec?"

"Yeah?"

"What's Frey's full name?"

Alec arched an eyebrow at the question, but answered without hesitation.

"Afreyla Rem Buskus," he said, barely suppressing a snort after saying the whole thing.

" . . . "

"Vash?"

Not only was her middle name Rem, but her last name was the same as that of the man Knives had killed all those years ago, the one that had been related Rem: Revnunt Buskus.

_Oh Knives_, Vash thought, _what have you done?_


	10. Nightmares of Inhumanity

Once again, many thanks to my reviewers, old and new. I hope you continue to enjoy! And now, the moment of truth...

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun!

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 10: Nightmares of Inhumanity**_

_A young girl peeked around the edge of the door to her father's study. When the dark-haired man caught sight of her, he grinned, motioning for her to come over to him. She smiled back and ran to him, giggling as his strong arms grabbed her by the waist and sat her safely in his lap._

"_Daddy?"_

"_Yes, Frey?"_

"_What happened to grandpa?"_

_Frey's father's smile faded as he looked down at his nine-year old daughter's face._

"_My father, he isn't with us anymore, Frey."_

"_Did he, did he . . . die?"_

"_Yes, Frey, he passed away before you were born."_

"_How?"_

_The man smiled patiently. "He was killed, Frey, by a very evil man."_

"_Why?"_

"_I don't know, dear. The man just said he wanted to kill the last descendant of Rem Saverem."_

"_So you were there?"_

"_Yes, honey. I was there, but I was hiding. When I saw the man kill your grandfather, I ran. The next thing I knew, July was being destroyed."_

"_How?"_

"_I'm sorry, Frey. I don't know."_

"_Who's Rem Saverem?"_

"_A woman that was related to Grandpa. She's who you got your middle name from."_

_Frey paused, considering this newly learned information. Then, "what did he look like?"_

"_Who, dear?"_

"_The man that killed grandpa."_

_His face fell again. "He was horrible, Frey. He had light blonde hair, and icy blue eyes that seemed to penetrate all the way to my soul."_

"_What was his name?"_

_The man smiled briefly again at his daughter's inquisitiveness. "I don't know, honey. But it doesn't matter. He's gone now."

* * *

"__Daddy, Daddy! You're home!"_

_Frey's father lifted her off the ground as she ran to him, swinging her in a circle in the air. "Hello Frey, and how have you been?"_

"_Did you bring me a present?"_

"_Frey!" a woman nearby gently scolded._

_The man smiled. "It's okay, honey." He turned to his daughter. "And yes, I do have a present for you."_

"_What is it! What is it!"_

_The man reached into his back pocket, pulling out a small dark box. Frey took it carefully, but didn't hesitate in ripping the lid off._

"_Wow . . ."_

_The man smiled at his daughter's awe. Inside the box were two small earrings, bright red flowers. Frey looked up._

"_These are really for me?"_

"_Yes, Frey. They're yours."

* * *

"__Frey."_

_Frey rolled over in bed at the sound of her name. Her father was leaning over her bed, smiling._

"_Get up Frey, I want to show you something."_

"_What is it, Dad?"_

_Her father's grin widened, and he looked just like a little boy excited to share some new discovery._

"_It's raining."_

_Frey sat up, confused. "What do you mean?"_

_The man brushed Frey's hair out of her face, then grabbed her hand and pulled her out of bed. "Come on, I'll show you."_

_Frey's father led her down the hall, Frey running at his side to keep up. The two reached Frey's parents room, where Frey's mother was already gazing out the window, smiling. Frey walked up beside her and looked out the window. Her eyes grew big with delight, and her parents both chuckled at the look on her face._

"_Wow . . ."_

"_This is the first time you've seen rain, isn't it, Frey?" her father's strong voice asked. She nodded excitedly, her face pressed up against the window, as close to the falling water as it could get. They sat like that for several minutes, watching the rain and listening to the soft patter it made on the roof above them. Rain was rare on Gunsmoke, and this was a rare and treasured experience for all of them. _

_Frey giggled as a flash of lightning appeared, and her parents exchanging surprised looks at her lack of fear. She laughed again as a huge clap of thunder shook the house._

"_Oh, this is so cool . . ."_

_Smiling, Frey's father put an arm around her shoulder, his other arm resting on his wife's waist. The scene was perfect._

_Suddenly a crash was heard from downstairs. The family jumped out of their thoughts and glanced apprehensively at each other. The sound was repeated, and Frey's parents soon realized it was someone beating against the door. After a few more attempts, the door crashed to the floor. Frey's mother's face paled, and she groped for her husband's arm._

"_Frey," her mother said, "go to your room, and don't come out, no matter what, okay?"_

_Frey sensed the urgency and shakiness in her mother's voice, despite the fact that she was trying to appear strong for her daughter's sake. Frey looked at her father, who nodded._

"_Listen to your mother, Frey. And please hurry." _

"_But Daddy . . ."_

"_Go, Frey."_

_Glancing at them one last time, Frey slipped out of the room and tore down the hall, not looking back. When she reached her room, she closed the door tightly behind her and curled up in a ball under her bed, silently praying._

_The thunder, the lightning, even the sound of the breaking door hadn't frightened her. But as she saw the expressions on her parents' faces, she had known something was seriously wrong. They never looked frightened. At least, they weren't supposed to._

_The sounds of a scuffle downstairs reached her young ears. She curled up into a tighter ball as her hushed words grew faster and more urgent. She felt tears well up in her eyes as her father's yelled protests were heard from downstairs. Then her father's shouts grew silent, and her mother's terrified scream echoed through the empty hallways. Frey fell silent, beginning to sob out of pure fear. Her mother continued screaming, begging for mercy for a few more moments, and then she, too, fell silent. _

_Frey held a hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds of her tears as she heard footsteps on the stairs. Someone was coming._

_Her eyes flew open and her heartbeat began to quicken rapidly as her door was pushed open. Paralyzing fear seemed to fill her whole body. She could see two feet from where she lay under the bed, coming steadily nearer to the position where she hid. Then the most mortifying noise that she had or ever would hear filled her ears._

"_I know you're in here, dear. Don't try to hide. I promise I won't hurt you." Frey's breathing stopped as the two feet halted just inches from her face. It grew quiet, too quiet._

_Before she knew what was happening, the man's hand had been thrust under the bed and grabbed her by the arm. She let out a petrified scream, clawing desperately at the arm. He laughed as he drug her out from under the bed. "Oh, are you trying to hurt me?"_

_Her attempts to escape suddenly stopped, however, as his face came into view. He had platinum blonde hair, and icy blue eyes. He grinned eerily. _

"_Well well, you even look like her."_

_The comment, which wasn't understood by Frey, was followed by another set of footsteps at the door. The man holding Frey by the arm glanced at the figure in the doorway. All that Frey could make out was his white coat._

"_I see you have attained the target, master."_

"_Yes. Prepare to leave."_

_The figure bowed, then turned and disappeared again. Frey silently allowed herself to be dragged out of the room, no longer able to protest. The only glimpse she got of her parents as they left were two figures lying on the ground, each with a dark red outline of blood.

* * *

__Even after waking up, Frey kept her eyes closed. Holding her breath and hanging on to the one shred of hope she had, she opened her eyes slowly, hoping that perhaps it had all been a bad dream. But every morning it was the same. She hoped with everything she had that nothing that had happened was real, always to receive the same disappointment when the dingy and dark walls of her small cell greeted her eyes. She had been here for a month now, spending all of her time alone in the dark room. Three times a day, someone would stop by the door and leave her a meager meal, which she would quickly devour before falling back into hopelessness. She had almost forgotten what it was like to see the sun, or any light at all. Her only source of it was a small crack in the wall through which a tiny ray fell._

_This morning, she ate the small breakfast left for her, as always, and then went to brood in her corner, mourning but refusing to cry over either her lost parents or current situation. Today, however, her door opened, far to early to be her midday meal. She looked up in surprise. Standing before her was a man with haunting yellow eyes and blue hair, the man that had appeared out of the shadows on the night of her kidnapping._

"_Come," he said, his voice a flat monotone, "our master has a gift for you."_

_Frey scurried to her feet, desperate for any break in the monotony, even if it meant following this questionable character. He led her down some dark hallways, eventually reaching the door he wanted. Light that was slightly tinted green spilled into the hallway from the base of the door, where there was a small gap between it and the floor. The door opened without being touched, and Frey was led into a large room._

_As she entered, the first thing she noticed was the man that had kidnapped her, standing on the other side of the room. So he was "the master." He glanced at the two of them and smiled, nodding at his accomplice, who understood the signal and backed away from Frey. The blonde man motioned for Frey to come forward, which she did, though only out of fear of what he might do to her if she refused. She stopped a few feet from him as he turned, motioning toward a container behind him. She stepped forward in order to look down into it, then fell back in horror. The box-like unit with a glass top held what appeared to be a human arm._

"_That's right," the man said, his voice sending chills up and down Frey's spine, "I have finally completed my own arm, one that contains all of the powers and uses of that of a plant."_

_Frey had no idea what this had to do with her or how an arm could hold the power of a plant, but she still stared at the man in horror. What kind of lunatic spent his time creating bionic arms?_

_She soon forgot to care, however, as she felt her limbs growing heavy. It was as if a power inside her body was pulling her down, or her body was filling with lead. She looked up at the man, her eyes wide and terrified. He just grinned evilly._

"_Ah yes, I'd like to introduce you to the powers of Legato."_

_Legato . . ._

_Frey's eyes followed the motion of the man's arm, to where the yellow-eyed man stood by the door, looking at the ground. So he was doing this._

_Frey looked back at the blonde man, grimacing as she was pinned against the floor. "Who are you?"_

_The man smiled. "Knives." _

_As Frey lay on the ground, considering Knives' strange name, Knives turned to a figure that had recently appeared._

"_Rai-dei." The man stepped forward, a samurai-like man with dark hair and eyes. Apparently he already knew what was expected of him, for he walked forward to stand at Frey's feet, facing her. Then he drew his sword and raised if above his head, positioning it over her right arm._

_Frey froze, suddenly realizing his intentions. She glanced at the case that held the arm, then at Knives, who continued to grin, then at Rai-dei and his sword. She closed her eyes tightly, dreading what was about to come, and bracing herself. Hot tears began to squeeze out of the corners of her eyes, but they were caused more by hatred than by fear. It was the last time she would cry in six long years.

* * *

__Frey took in a sharp breath as her weak body hit the floor. She lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily, before crawling to her hands and knees. A male voice reached her ears._

"_I trust the operation was fairly painless."_

_She looked up. It was Knives. He stood in the same position he had been in when she had been dragged, bleeding, out of the room, along with her soon to be connected arm. They hadn't even bothered to put her out as the arm was grafted onto her body. The pain had been excruciating, nearly unbearable._

_She glared at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a soft moan escaped her mouth. Knives began to laugh._

"_Let me explain," he said, "that arm is the arm of a plant, which is what I and my brother are. You will find that it has given you exceptional powers, just as my brother's did for Legato."_

_Still not understanding how a man could be a plant, Frey just continued glaring, wishing she could hurt him somehow. He began to laugh again, a haunting laugh that made her want to scream in anger. She remembered the horrible pain she had experienced when Rai-dei's blade had cut cleanly through her flesh, and the even more intense pain she had experienced when receiving her new arm. _

_What does he want with me?_

_Her mind flashed back a month, to the night her parents had died. He had killed them, mercilessly, disregarding their pleas to stop. He had kidnapped her, then cut her own arm off, giving her a new one and claiming it gave her supernatural powers. He was completely mad. He had to be. And Frey wanted nothing more than to see him suffer . . ._

_Suddenly she remembered something her father had told her three years ago. It had been about her grandfather, the one who had died. Frey's anger intensified as she remembered her father's description of her grandfather's murderer, a horrible man, with "light blonde hair and icy blue eyes that seemed to penetrate all the way to my soul."_

"_You!" she got out, clenching her eyes shut as memories of her parents flooded through her. Uncontrollable anger burned inside of her. Her parents screams reverberated in her mind, backed by Knives' unceasing laughter. She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to kill him, she wanted him to suffer just like her parents had. She wanted to scream, unleashing all of her anger, hate, pain, and fear. She wanted to . . ._

_Suddenly there was a cry. She looked up, still overcome with anger. Rai-dei, who had been standing silently by the door, was hovering in mid-air, a surprised look on his face. Frey immediately looked around for Legato, but he was nowhere to be seen. She would have expected him to be hidden somewhere, but it was as if her senses were keener now, and she could just tell that he wasn't there. Her anger dissipated as she was filled with confusion and shock. As her anger disappeared and her shoulders slumped, Rai-dei dropped back to the floor, landing nimbly on his feet. He looked up at her, his face a mix of alarm and awe._

_Knives' laughter slowed, then stopped, and an amused expression crossed his face. He glanced at the girl laying on the floor in front of him, now taking quick, raspy gulps of air. His eyes took on a barely short of Satanic glint._

"_Yes, that's it."_


	11. Nineteen Years Older

Hey again guys! I'm posting again so soon because I'm going out of town for a couple of weeks starting tomorrow and most likely won't have a chance to update in that time. This new system is fantastic, because now I can see how many people are following my story but NOT REVIEWING! Come on guys, I want feedback! It doesn't have to be much, I just want to know why you like my story or hear about any suggestions you have. For those of you that _are_ reviewing, thanks again, your comments are appreciated more than you know.

Sugar Pill: unless this web site suddenly disappears or the world explodes or something, I have full intentions of finishing this story. So you don't have to worry about that.

Sausuge: All I have to say is that I know you're really going to like this chapter.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 11: Nineteen Years Older**_

Inhumanity. To some it is considered a gift. To be free of the weaknesses of mortals, their frailties and insecurities, it could be viewed as a marvelous opportunity. But to one that once held the characteristics of a mortal, one that was once a human, inhumanity is a scourge, a curse, worse than any conceivable disease. To have lost your human characteristics, to have lost joy in the simple things. To know that the only ones that can relate to you are the very ones that gave you your cursed existence. To not be able to tell anyone that cares for you the truth. To wonder what they would do to you if they knew. To carry that burden alone until the end of your days, assuming there _is_ an end to your days. To not know anything of your fate, to spend your days wandering from place to place. To be haunted by memories of the only people that ever loved you, having left them behind long ago. This is the definition of the loss of humanity.

Some, a very select few, are able to escape this fate. The day she met Michael, Frey became one of those few. But those days ended, almost too soon to have really made a difference.

"You're awake."

Frey gained awareness of her consciousness as she heard the cold voice. So she wasn't dreaming anymore.

Her eyelids were heavy, her head throbbing. The voice was that of a man, one distantly familiar. She racked her brain for a face to match the words, but found none. She could remember nothing. Her brain told her arm to reach up and rub her eyes, but her arms failed to respond. She tried again. Nothing. She couldn't move.

The feeling was familiar, like the voice. She had felt this way before, helpless, lost, and completely without control. Then it hit her. She had felt exactly like this back in her room, when _he_ had appeared . . .

Her eyes flew open, burning with fury.

"You!" she cried, as her eyes focused and she recognized the figure of Legato standing before her. His face was blank, just as imperturbable as usual. But his eyes, his eyes held a look that would have chilled her to the core if not for her rage.

"How can you be here!" she screamed at him, struggling to no avail against her invisible bonds. "Vash killed you nineteen years ago! He shot you in the head at point blank range! There's _no way_ you can still be alive!"

He remained silent, watching her quietly with his chilling gaze. She opened her mouth to yell again, but a voice cut her off.

"I see the butterflies told you everything."

Frey's stomach twisted violently and her pupils shrank to mere dots as she laid eyes on the only man she had ever feared. Knives.

He smiled at her, an eerie smile that suggested joy for things other than her safe return. His piercing blue eyes penetrated her own, melting her fury instantly like a pail of icy water poured over a sputtering candle flame.

He walked up next to her, a hand reaching down and grabbing her ear. He turned it roughly to examine her earring.

"I see you still wear that hideous earring," he said, "I always hated that thing." He twisted it between his fingers, as if in an effort to pull it out. Frey pulled herself away violently. Knives moved on, uncaring.

"Tell me," he breathed, "did they tell you of the Gung-Ho Guns?" She found herself unable to answer, even though she knew Legato had completely released his control on her body.

Knives continued without waiting for her to respond. "Our numbers have grown greatly over the years, dear Frey, and more than one of our new Gung-Ho Guns has the ability to raise the dead. Many of our fallen have returned to us through them. You remember Rai-dei," he said with a devious smile, "he is one that has been revived, as is Legato."

Frey's eyes narrowed, though she knew her attempt to look unintimidated was failing miserably. Knives laughed.

"The Gung-Ho Guns have grown greatly in number _and_ strength," he emphasized. "And now that your powers have had the time to mature and strengthen, you can become one of them."

At this suggestion, Frey felt her fear dissipate and rekindle in anger. "Never!" she spat. "You're the one that killed Michael's father, and my parents, and all of those innocent people back in Cerin City! I would _never_ become one of your lowlife followers, no matter what the cost to me." Her voice had lowered as she spoke her last words, and it was obvious that she meant it.

"Ah," Vash's brother murmured, "so the half-spider learned to bite."

Not surprisingly, he seemed unfazed. His face took on a look of slightly amused contemplation.

Frey stiffened as he leaned over so his face was inches from her own. She was unable to turn away from his gaze. He smiled.

"And suppose I could change that."

Frey's eyes widened. "W-what do you mean? Change what?"

"I brought back Legato and the others, I could easily bring back anyone else," he stated nonchalantly, not bothered at all at the thought of trying to play God. "Of course," he continued, "I would only be able to bring back one person, you for them, an even exchange."

Frey cringed as his motive suddenly became clear. He was just playing games in order to get her to agree to join him. Her gaze fell from his, her head drooping. A steady flow of possible names ran through her head, but one stuck out. She knew almost immediately who she would bring back. Her words were quiet, but final and lacking hesitation.

"Bring back Michael's father."

Knives shrugged. "Very well." Then he turned to Legato and nodded. The man stood and addressed Frey.

"Follow me."

Frey jumped to her feet, eager to remove herself from Knives' presence. She took a few faltering steps after Legato, glancing back at Knives, but then turned and walked on with feigned courage. The door closed behind her, and Knives grinned as shadows fell over his face.

"That's right, Vash," he whispered to no one, "you'll completely trust her after she brings back the priest for you, won't you?" He chuckled softly. "And you'll suffer even more when you watch him die again. They'll all die, even you, and all because of my dear Frey."

* * *

Frey sat silently on a bench in the back of a large white van. Across from her sat Legato, and beside him a hooded figure dressed completely in black. The hooded man hadn't spoken once, just climbed into the van after them as Legato had informed her that they were going to Tonim Town to get Michael's father, whom he had referred to as "Evergreen's apprentice."

Suddenly the van came to a halt. Frey looked up in surprise as Legato said simply, "we're here." She had expected the trip to take a few days. That meant they had been close all along. It was almost as if they were planning this . . .

The large doors of the van opened. Though it appeared as if they had done it by themselves, Frey knew it had been Legato. He and the hooded man stepped out of the vehicle.

"Stay here," Legato instructed. The only thing Frey saw before he closed the door was a small white church in the distance.

Frey pulled her legs up to her and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on her knees. How was she going to pull this off? What would she tell Michael's father once he was back? He would probably have no idea what was going on. He didn't even know he had a son. How would he deal with coming back to life after nineteen years?

And what about Michael and Milly? How would she explain to them that he was back? She couldn't tell them the truth. If she did that, they would try to stop her from going back to Knives. But she had to. She couldn't risk hurting any of them by disobeying him.

Her face fell at that thought. She couldn't wait to see the looks on everyone's faces when they saw Wolfwood again, even though she had no idea how she would explain it. But that thought was overshadowed by the fact that she would have to come back to Knives. It was part of their deal. She sighed deeply. At least Michael would have a father. And if Michael just gained happiness out of her sacrifice, it was worth it.

She was shaken out of her thoughts as the doors on the back of the van reopened. A man dressed in a black suit was thrown by the hooded man into the van, landing on the floor. He was blindfolded and gagged, and his feet and hands were tied. Frey's heart skipped a beat. This had to be him. How Legato had gotten him past all of the people outside without raising suspicion remained a mystery to her.

Legato turned to the hooded man. "Your services are no longer needed," he said unemotionally. The man bowed slightly and then seemingly disappeared into thin air. Frey jumped at the sight, but turned away and tried to forget it. Legato climbed back into the van and sat down, the doors closing behind him. Then the van started on its way again.

Frey watched the priest on the floor helplessly as he squirmed uncomfortably. She hoped Legato would let him go soon. For a moment she considered psychically telling the priest that everything would be okay, but she caught herself. Her action wouldn't be missed by Legato. After all, he had the same powers.

After several minutes of eerie silence, the van skidded to a halt again. Frey cringed as Wolfwood's head flew into the wall with a sickening crack, but Legato seemed unaware of it. The doors opened for the third time, and a semi-dark alley was revealed to Frey's eyes.

"You have one week to take him back," Legato said, "if you do not return to our master within that time, the deal is off." Frey nodded, gulping, and clearly understanding the threat in his words. She jumped out of the van, then turned to pull Wolfwood out. At first she was surprised that he wasn't resisting, but then she realized that the force of his head hitting the wall had knocked him unconscious. With a little difficulty, she finally managed to get his body out of the vehicle and onto the ground. She glanced up as she realized Legato was watching her.

"Our master wishes you to take this with you," he murmured, extending his hand. Frey looked down. Her eyes widened in surprise. He held in his hand a gun. It looked exactly like Vash's Long Colt, save one difference. It was jet black. Bored with her staring, Legato lightly tossed it to her. She easily caught it, but only stopped staring at it when the doors on the van began to close again. She looked up as the van sped away, stirring up a cloud of sand behind it. When it was finally gone, she glanced back down at the gun, turning it over in her hands. Why in the world would Knives want her to have this? She had never even used a gun. She smiled wryly. That was one thing Aidan had over her.

Pocketing the gun, Frey turned her attention to the priest on the ground. Pulling out a knife Alec had once given her, she quickly removed his bonds. The last thing she removed was the blindfold, and a genuine smiled covered her face as she did so. She was immediately beginning to like the man. He looked so much like Michael.

* * *

Later that night, in a dark hotel room, a man stirred for only the second time in nearly two decades. This time, however, he was actually able to move.

Wolfwood let out a long overdue moan. His head was throbbing, his wrists and ankles sore from his bonds. Not comprehending, he slowly opened his eyes. As he took in the scene before him, the chairs, table, and beds bathed in darkness, he bolted up, shock overcoming him.

"Oh my . . ."

He touched his left arm with his other hand, just to make sure it was really there. Then he ran his hands through his black hair and rubbed his eyes, laughing.

"I'm alive! I'm actually alive!" His laughter increased in volume, a disbelieving laugh that sounded like that of madman.

It immediately died as Frey walked into the room and switched on the light, carrying a tray of food. They stared at each other stupidly for several moments. Then Frey's face broke into a wide smile.

"Oh, Milly's going to be so happy to see you!" she said, suddenly overcome with joy. She walked to the table next to Wolfwood's bed, placing the food on it and pushing it towards him, grinning the whole time. Wolfwood looked blankly at the food, then back at the stranger in front of him. Hearing that name again had nearly sent him back to the grave. Suddenly he remembered everything that had happened before he had awoken in this bed.

"Milly?"

"Yes, of course. She's going to be so happy when she finds out you're alive."

"You . . . you know Milly?"

Frey arched an eyebrow, not sure how he could be missing such a simple point. She opened her mouth to answer in the affirmative, but he beat her to it.

"Look, I don't know what you freaks are trying to pull, bringing me back and all, but you stay away from her, understand? You can do whatever you want to me, but if you touch her, so help me . . ."

Frey's smile immediately faded. "What are you talking about?" Wolfwood looked up at her, his eyes clearly displaying his contempt.

"Don't play dumb. I know you're working for Knives."

Frey bristled. "What?"

"You were with Legato after all, weren't you? I could recognize his voice, even after being dead for . . . for . . ."

"Nineteen years," she said curtly.

The anger in Wolfwood's eyes faded, replaced by surprise. "Nineteen years?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," Frey continued. "The same Gung-Ho Gun that revived you today revived Legato a long time ago. I made a deal with them," she said indignantly, "that if they revived you I would join them, once and for all." She sighed, suddenly ashamed. "I guess I am working for Knives."

"Why do they want you to join them?"

"My powers." He raised an eyebrow. "I'm a psychic," she added, answering his unasked question. She looked back up at him, fully expecting to see pity in his eyes.

"You're an idiot."

Frey faltered, twitching. "Excuse me?"

"Why would you sacrifice so much for someone you don't even know? I don't deserve to live, I have nothing to live for. You've ruined your own life for a complete stranger's sake." Frey smiled. Despite his sarcastic and biting tone, she knew it was his way of saying thank you. He probably felt really bad, too.

"Why did you do it, anyway?" he asked.

Frey frowned, thinking it was obvious, but caught herself before she criticized him for his lack of perception. "That's right," she said, as if she had just realized something profound, "you don't know."

"Know what?"

"About your family."

Wolfwood shifted uncomfortably. "My parents are dead, kid. And I wouldn't exactly consider Milly family . . ."

Frey grinned widely, enjoying the moment. "That's not who I mean."

"Who, then?" he asked again, his curiosity truly piqued.

"You have a son."

His entire body went numb. "A-a son?" he asked weakly.

Frey just nodded as Wolfwood's face dropped so he was looking at the bed sheets. He gripped them tightly. "I . . . I'm a father . . . I'm really a father." He looked up. "How old is he?"

"He just turned eighteen."

"Of course," Wolfwood muttered to himself, seeing the stupidity in that question. "What does he look like?"

"Just like you," she replied, "but with Milly's eyes."

Wolfwood smiled, creating a mental picture of their only child.

"What's his name?"

"Michael Nicholas Thompson." Frey placed a slight emphasis on the middle name.

Wolfwood stopped. Milly had given her only child _his_ name? That had to mean . . . she had forgiven him . . .

He looked up at the girl still standing next to his table, smiling patiently. And suddenly the true meaning of her sacrifice hit him with full force. She was doing this for Michael. She was doing this to make Michael happy. He had been able to tell she cared about him the moment she had said his name. She had said it softly, carefully. Wolfwood shook his head in disbelief. She was giving up everything for his son. She was willing to go to _Knives_, just to make his son happy.

"Michael is really lucky to have found someone like you," he said gently, smiling up at her. He took pleasure in seeing her blush, then turn quickly in a huff. She obviously was frustrated with the fact that her emotions had been so apparent.

"You should eat," she said before leaving.

"Hey kid, got a name?" he asked, ignoring her.

She paused, glancing quickly over her shoulder at him. "Frey," she answered, "and I'm not a kid."

"Frey . . ." he repeated, considering it for a few moments. "Hmm. Isn't that a boy's name?"

"You want me to shove that sandwich down your throat?"

Wolfwood smiled, slightly surprised at her threat. "Hey, I was just asking."

"It's short for Afreyla, if you must know," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Holy crap. That's kind of girly."

"Tell me about it."

"I take it you don't like it."

She responded with a bittersweet smile. "Yeah, my parents hated it too, after a while." She sighed as she remembered cringing every time her father had called her by that hideous name. It had always meant that she was in serious trouble. It was ironic how much she had missed it when he was gone.

Wolfwood let the subject go, sensing painful emotions hidden beneath her only slightly saddened face.

"Well kid, goodnight." Frey looked up from her reverie, rolling her eyes. She walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey," Wolfwood said at the last moment. She turned. "I think we hit it off pretty well, how about you?" She smiled, but the expression of joy faded as she turned back around. He didn't realize just how short-lived any friendship of theirs was going to be.

* * *

Alec grunted softly as he heaved a heavy, cross-shaped and cloth-covered object. He wiped at his brow.

"What _is_ that thing Michael's been hauling around?"

Neither Vash nor Aidan, who were helping load the car, bothered to answer. Tomorrow would be one week since the day Frey had disappeared. Of course, they knew nothing of her deal with Knives, or the fact that she only had four days left to get to them and back to Knives. They had stayed in Cerin City for so long expecting her to possibly return, but they knew the situation was growing hopeless. So they were going to find her.

Alec glanced at Aidan out of the corner of his eye. She was leaning against the side of the car, staring blankly out at the vast expanse of desert in the distance. He jumped as she jolted into a standing position, shading her eyes and peering into the distance.

"I see a car . . ."

Vash dropped what he was packing and joined Alec in following her gaze. Vash shielded his eyes from the sun and squinted.

"Meryl?" He rubbed his eyes in disbelief, then looked back out. "And Milly, and Sloan, and Carly!"

Alec glanced up at the Stampede. "Really?"

Vash nodded. Aidan put her head in her hands and began to moan. "Oh no . . ." Vash glanced down at her and then frowned. They weren't supposed to be here.

Within a few minutes they had reached the city, and since the hotel was so close to the edge of town, they immediately spotted Vash, Aidan, and Alec. They pulled up and skidded to a halt. Aidan did everything to avoid eye contact as Sloan exited the car, slamming his door and glaring at her. She didn't miss the disappointed look in her mother's eyes, though. They definitely weren't going to make this easy for her.

Meryl, however, stepped out of the car and grinned, directing it at Vash. He let his frustration and worry at their arrival fade for a moment, and smiled softly back. Milly was right behind Meryl.

"Um, Mr. Vash? Where are Michael and Frey?"

Immediately Aidan and Alec glanced at each other nervously. Telling everyone about what had happened wouldn't be easy. They both looked at Vash. His smile had faded.

"Michael's upstairs, Milly. Come on, I'll show you."

Meryl raised a questioning eyebrow at his answer, but followed Milly and Vash into the hotel.

Aidan raised her eyes to look at her father, chagrined. He was glowering. Her gaze fell again, this time resting on his steadily tapping impatient foot. She looked sadly at Alec, her eyes silently giving him the message to leave. Feeling incredibly stupid, Alec walked into the hotel and closed the door, glancing over his shoulder at Aidan as he left. He stood there alone in silence for a few moments before moving to the nearest window to eavesdrop.

Sloan exploded.

"Aidan, this is the most stupid, irresponsible, idiotic, and absolutely ridiculous thing you have _ever_ done! Honestly! To think you would have the gall not only to run away from home with the likes of _them_, but to take my gun with you! What in the world were you thinking!" He paused, taking a few steps toward her, his face red and his chest heaving. "No, you weren't thinking, were you! Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you could have gotten yourself into! You just don't get it, do you! You could have _died_, Aidan!"

_You didn't worry about Vash, Alec, Frey, or Michael taking that risk._ She almost said it, but caught herself. She didn't want to unleash his wrath even further.

When she failed to respond, Sloan threw his hands in the air, sighing in exasperation. He seemed almost like a wild bear. Aidan cringed as he turned back around, paralyzed with fear. It almost seemed as if her own father was going to strike her.

"Sloan, please-"

"Don't interrupt me, Carly! Aidan, we trusted you! But you've lost that now! You've lost all of your privileges! I'll just have to take some leave, and tell my superiors that I'm busy keeping my delinquent daughter under control!"

Aidan's eyes were growing wetter. She whispered in a choked up voice, "I was just worried about them."

"That's not a good enough excuse, Aidan!"

"It's a _perfectly_ good excuse!"

Aidan and both of her parents turned in shock to the door. Alec stood in the doorway, appearing almost as angry as Sloan, if that was possible.

Sloan opened his mouth to yell some more, but Alec was faster.

"Do you have any idea what she has gone through to help us! She's been worried this whole time about how you would react! But she did it anyway, because she thought it was right. You should be proud of her and how brave she's been!"

"My daughter did nothing worthy of praise."

"She saved us from being robbed! She saw a group of bandits coming after us, and she shot out one of their tires! We heard it and realized what was going on, but if she hadn't been there they would have attacked us, and we would have had no warning. Do you call _that_ unworthy of praise!"

"That's enough, boy."

Alec ignored him, and opened his mouth again. He was cut off, however, by a stifled sob coming from Aidan's direction.

"Aidan?"

"Just stop, Alec. Please. Nothing you can do will help."

Alec's eyes widened. Then he smiled impudently, his olive green eyes shining. He knew what she was doing. She just didn't want him to get involved.

"Come on, Aidan," he said, slipping his hand around hers. He ignored the shocked look in her eyes, and just pulled her into the hotel after him. He noticed with satisfaction that after a few moments she didn't hesitate in following him. He closed the door behind them, leaving a still fuming Sloan standing in the street.

Sloan spit angrily in the sand, then kicked at the ground and got back in the car. Carly understood the gesture as meaning that he wouldn't be going in. He was so stubborn sometimes. It was highly ironic that it was he that had brought Alec into Aidan's life in the first place. If it wasn't for him, Alec and Frey would have been left alone in the desert to die. Carly looked at him, sorrow filling her normally warm brown eyes. She glanced at the hotel her daughter had just entered, then back at her husband, sighing. This would be a hard rift to breach.

* * *

"Goodnight, Aidan."

"Goodnight, Alec," she murmured quietly as he began to close the door to her room.

She looked up just as the door was about to click shut. "Alec?" He stopped.

"Yeah?"

"Um, thanks." He grinned, winking.

"No problem." Then he closed the door and turned, letting out a huge sigh of relief. There weren't many people he hesitated in standing up to, but Sloan had been one of them. He was a force to be reckoned with.

He meandered downstairs. Vash, Milly, Carly, Meryl, and Michael were sitting at the table, Vash speaking.

"So we don't know where Frey is," he finished. Alec glanced at Michael. He looked just as dejected as before, his face dead. Milly and Meryl looked similar, but Carly still just appeared frustrated and depressed. She was probably still thinking about the fight between her husband and Alec. She looked up as Alec continued down the stairs, but the others remained in their previous positions, most of them staring at the table. He walked right past them and out the door, ignoring Carly as she asked where he was going.

On the other side of the street, sitting in the car, was Sloan. He didn't even acknowledge Alec as he walked up. His eyes were closed, his arms up behind his head, a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. Alec took a deep breath.

"Mr. Fallon, I just wanted to apologize for getting so angry." He gulped. He didn't think he had ever had to say anything that difficult. Apologizing wasn't something that bode well with his ego. "I'm not taking back anything I said," he continued, "because I still believe every word of it, but I shouldn't have done that in front of Aidan." Sloan didn't even grace him with a nod. Alec sighed and shrugged, having done all he could to attempt reconciliation with Aidan's father. In reality, he wasn't all that disturbed that Sloan refused to acknowledge him. He had only done it for Aidan's sake, anyway.

Alec stopped at the door as Sloan opened his mouth. "Let's just get one thing straight," he said, still without even looking at Alec, "you'll stay away from my daughter, understand?"

Alec smiled, glancing at the calvary man over his shoulder. "Not on your life."


	12. The Return of the Father

Hey, I'm back, and sooner than expected! Well, here's the next chapter, and I'm still expecting all of you that are reading this and not reviewing to get your acts together and just click on the little "go" button at the bottom of the page to submit a review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun (I think I forgot this in the past few chapters--oops)

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 12: The Return of the Father**_

Frey held her breath as she and Wolfwood went careening into the air, releasing it quickly as they landed back on the ground with a hard thud. Wolfwood smirked as he noticed her grip tighten where her hands held the back of his shirt.

"Something wrong?"

Frey cringed. "I still don't know how you convinced me to do this." Wolfwood laughed.

"All I had to do is point out the fact that neither of us had enough money for a car," he reminded her. She groaned.

"Still, walking would have been better than this." Wolfwood just smiled as he accelerated the motorcycle, chuckling to himself as Frey moaned. So the girl with eyes that could burn a hole in your very soul _did_ have a weakness.

They rode in silence for several more minutes. Frey could feel the anticipation growing inside her. They had been on the road for three days now. They had to be getting close to Cerin City, assuming that Wolfwood knew where he was going. Her joy at being reunited with her companions was overshadowed, however, when she remembered that three days of her week to return to Knives were already gone. It would take her another three days at least to get back, leaving her one day with them. She sighed deeply.

"Got any cigarettes?"

"I thought you were a priest."

"Yeah, well-"

"No."

"Oh."

Frey smiled as she watched Wolfwood's black hair blowing wildly as they sped through the desert. It was just like Michael's. Suddenly she felt at peace, as if everything would be alright, as she pictured the look on Michael's face when he finally met his father. It still surprised her a little that this man was Michael's father. They were so varied in their personalities. Then again, they were both rash, and protective. They just had different ways of expressing it.

Wolfwood interrupted her thoughts again, this time with a more important question. "So, how exactly do you know Milly?"

Frey smiled. "Your son-" she paused as Wolfwood jumped at her use of that phrase, "saved me from some men at a bar a while back. I went to December with him and stayed with Carly for awhile, but I've gotten a place of my own since."

"Carly?"

"Milly's sister, or, one of them, from what I hear." Wolfwood smiled, memories of Milly's stories about her family coming back. She had had what, ten brothers and sisters? And she was the youngest.

Frey proceeded to explain exactly who Carly was to Wolfwood, as well as Sloan, Aidan, and Alec. She updated him on the fact that they had moved to December to take care of his orphanage, and basically summarized everything that had happened since the day Michael had been shot in the alley, leaving out the fact that she, Michael, Alec, Vash, and Aidan had set out to find Knives. Wolfwood was just left thinking that they had been visiting Cerin City or something. When she was finally finished, Wolfwood sighed, finding the pure rush of information almost too much to handle. With that out of the way, they fell into the silence again. Then,

"Um, Mr. Wolfwood? Could you, um, not tell anyone about . . . you know . . ."

"Your affiliation with Knives?" He asked emotionlessly.

She cringed. "Yeah."

"You're going have to tell them eventually, you know."

"I know, I will eventually, just not yet." Frey's eyes fell, realizing there wasn't going to be an eventually. She would be leaving tomorrow. Thankfully, Wolfwood didn't realize this, or at least didn't have time to. They had sighted Cerin City. Frey's heart jumped to her throat. This suddenly seemed much harder than it had before.

Wolfwood raised an eyebrow as they pulled into town, stopping the motorcycle.

"Why is it abandoned?" he asked apprehensively.

Frey pulled off her helmet and stepped of the motorcycle, her eyes down.

"Kid?"

"We were looking for Knives," she quietly admitted, "Vash, Michael, Aidan, Alec, and I. There was a massacre here."

Wolfwood looked at her disbelievingly. "What are you going to do now that you've found him?"

"I don't know."

Wolfwood followed Frey's example and climbed off of the motorcycle. The two of them stood there for a few moments, letting it sink in.

"What were you doing with Knives, anyway?"

"Legato kidnapped me."

Wolfwood said no more.

"We might as well just walk to the hotel," Frey said, glad to change the subject. "It's just down the street." She led him down the empty, eerie road in silence, until she spotted someone sitting on the side of the street. She squinted, the figure being difficult to discern in the dying light. Then her eyes flew open. _Michael . . ._

Wolfwood was forgotten. Her pace quickened gradually, until she had broken into a full-fledged run, screaming his name. He looked up. Frey barely noticed the melancholy look that hovered on his countenance, because as soon as he had recognized her it completely disappeared. His face lit up and he jumped to his feet, starting to run and closing the distance between them.

Frey laughed out loud as they reached each other. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the air, spinning a few times, then lowered her back to the ground and took her in his arms. Frey gasped. His emotion was overwhelming. His actions completely gave away his feelings. He just stood there, holding her as if he was terrified that he might lose her again.

Finally he let her go and stepped back, though he kept her hand safe in his. It was then that he saw Wolfwood.

The priest was just staring at the two of them. Frey could tell from the look on his face that he had just realized who the young man he was looking at was. She smiled. Michael reacted differently, however. Immediately he pushed Frey behind him and whipped out his cross-shaped pistol, not taking note of Wolfwood's surprise when he set eyes on the gun.

"You . . . you're the one that kidnapped her, aren't you! Get away from here! Get away from her now! Don't you dare ever come near her again!" His hand was shaking as he attempted to aim at the man before him, his anger almost overpowering. Frey just smiled and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"Now Michael, that's no way to treat your father."

Though he couldn't hear her, what Frey had said instantly became obvious to Wolfwood. The look on his son's face gave away that much. He shifted uncomfortably and lifted a hand in greeting.

"Um, hello . . . son."

Michael shook his head vigorously, backing up and taking Frey with him. Both of his hands tightened, one around his gun and the other around Frey's hand.

"No," he said simply. "You can't be my father. My father is dead. I don't know what you did to brainwash Frey into thinking that, but-"

"FREY!"

All three of them turned to find the source of the high-pitched squeal. It was Milly. She ran up, nearly crushing Frey in a bear hug.

"Milly? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, Carly and Sloan and Meryl and I came to find you guys! Isn't it great!" Frey just smiled, realizing with satisfaction that she would get to see Milly and Wolfwood's reunion after all.

Frey glanced at Wolfwood. His face had paled drastically. His mouth was open, but no words came out. Milly watched both Frey and Michael in confusion.

"Hey, what are you two looking-"

The words died. Michael noticed that his mother suddenly stiffened as she saw what they did. He looked up at her face. She looked as if she had seen a ghost.

"M-Mr. Priest?" she stammered. Then the terrified look on her face suddenly melted. Her eyes filled with tears. Without another word, she ran to Wolfwood, throwing herself into his arms and bawling. Wolfwood clearly wasn't sure how to react, but after a few moments of letting her soak his jacket with her tears, he gently put his arms around her, burying his head in her hair. _Oh Milly. You haven't changed a bit, have you? You're still the same sweet girl you always were._

Frey smiled as she "accidentally" overheard his thoughts. Then she watched silently as Michael released her hand and walked up to the couple in front of him.

"Mom?" he asked weakly, his voice unsure. "Mom, what's going on?" His mother pulled away from Wolfwood, smiling despite her tear-stained cheeks. Michael didn't fail to notice how the strange man holding his mother was reluctant to let her go.

"Michael," Milly said, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand, "I'd like to introduce you to your father. Nicholas D. Wolfwood." Michael looked up at the man, disbelief still apparent in his eyes. He shook his head. There was no way.

Still, he could almost see himself in the man. No, he told himself, as much as he hated to admit it, the man looked just like him, expect for his eyes. Then he remembered the way his mother had looked at the man when she had seen him. Was it possible?

Wolfwood smiled and extended his hand. "It's good to finally meet you, Michael." Michael hesitated, glancing at his mother. Her face was filled with pure, unbelievable joy. He had never seen her look so happy. She nodded softly.

He looked back at Wolfwood. He was still smiling softly, hand extended, though he obviously wasn't going to try to force it. Michael held his hand forward, then pulled it back, unsure. But he couldn't deny that what this man was claiming was true. No man had ever made his mother so happy. Taking a deep breath, he placed his hand in his father's, shaking it.

"You too . . . Dad."

Frey thought she was going to start laughing, so great was the joy she felt. And she knew that everything she was going through was worth it, just because of that moment. She turned, making her way to the hotel on her own.

"Hey kid, where're you going?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," she answered, waving a hand in the air, "you all just take your time."

Wolfwood looked down at his son as soon as she was out of earshot. "You know, she told me about how you saved her back at that bar. That was very brave of you. Idiotic, I might add, but brave."

Milly smiled. "Yes, Michael has been wonderful. He's taken good care of me." Wolfwood patted his newfound son on the back.

"Good," he answered. "I don't know what I would do if you hadn't been here for her."

* * *

When Frey reached the hotel, there were no lights on. Soft voices carried into the building from behind it. Assuming everyone was out there, she headed up the stairs to her room. Her lack of sleep for the past several days was catching up with her. And she could surprise them later.

She was about halfway to the staircase when she heard someone scream her name. She couldn't see very well in the dark, but out of nowhere someone practically mauled her. It didn't take her long to realize it was Aidan. The group outside had obviously heard the noise, because they all came running into the hotel, turning lights on on their way.

Meryl was the first to reach them. When she saw Frey sitting on the floor, still recovering from the blow of Aidan flying into her, she fell to her knees beside the girls, screaming now, too. Vash rounded the corner, crying, "Meryl! What is it!" But as he saw the sweet reunion occurring, he just leaned back against the wall and sighed in relief.

"Thank goodness," Carly murmured, holding her shirt near where her heart was. Alec stepped forward, helping Frey to her feet.

Frey's smile faded as she saw the look on his face. "Are you okay?" she whispered to him. He just hugged her, shaking his head.

"I was so worried about you," he said. Frey smiled. It was strange to see Alec, who was normally so arrogant, reduced to this because of her. She glanced up and saw Sloan standing behind Alec. He had cracked a small smile, watching them. She smiled back. It wasn't much, but it was greatly satisfying anyway.

Alec backed out of the hug, but kept hold of her shoulders. He look her straight in the eyes.

"Frey, where were you?"

She removed his hands by shrugging. "Oh, I just had some business to take care of. Sorry I didn't leave a note. I guess I didn't realize you all would worry so much."

"Frey," Alec said so only she could hear, his tone clearly revealing that he didn't believe her.

"Really," she said, "it was nothing."

She held her breath as he probed her eyes for a few more moments, relief filling her as he stepped back and patted her shoulder.

"Well, it's really good to have you back."

At that moment, Michael walked in the door, alone. Everyone except Frey looked up expectantly, excited to see what his reaction to seeing Frey would be. But he just slipped his shoes off, then looked up, his expression showing no surprise at all.

"Well, I guess you all found out Frey's back."

Aidan looked at Frey in disappointment, having expected more than that. Frey, however, was looking at Michael, grinning crookedly.

"So Michael, where's your mom?"

"Uh, she's going to be a minute." He looked up at Frey, smirking. She laughed a little under her breath, ignoring the way Meryl was looking back and forth between her and Michael, confused.

"All right," she demanded, "what are you two hiding?"

"Well, I'm exhausted," was Frey's only reply. "I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, me too," Michael said, following her up the stairs and trying not to laugh.

Meryl looked to Vash, but he just shrugged.

"Hey, don't look at me."

* * *

Frey sat alone in her room, brushing slowly through her long black hair and watching herself in the mirror. The silence was broken by a knock at the door.

"Come in," she murmured. It was Michael. She smiled softly.

"Are you sure you want to come in here? Last time you did I ended up disappearing for a week."

He ignored her, reaching into his pocket. "I've got something for you."

"Uh-oh, again?"

He shook his head in exasperation. "Oh, stop it. Here." He had pulled out Frey's old pair of sunglasses. They were cracked in two places, having been stepped on by Michael after falling off of a table.

"I know they won't do you much good anymore, but I thought you might want them back anyway." Frey took them slowly, turning them over in her hands. Then she realized she was acting very melancholy. She looked up at him and smiled.

"So, how does it feel to have a father?" He didn't answer for a few moments.

"Frey, how did you do it?" he finally asked, his eyes pleading for an answer to all of his confusion.

"Look, it was no big deal, really. I just knew someone from back home that was . . . er . . . _gifted_." She sighed. Well, she hadn't lied.

Michael just shook his head, not really surprised considering her powers.

"What about the window?"

"Uh . . ."

"Well, I put in a new one."

Frey smiled, grateful that she didn't have to answer his question. "Thanks."

An awkward silence ensued, interrupted finally by Meryl's extremely loud scream from downstairs.

"Well, I guess your parents are home."

"Yeah."

"Goodnight, Michael."

"Goodnight." He began to close the door, but paused halfway.

"Frey?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't ever scare me like that again, okay?" She gave him a half-smile.

"Okay," she lied, "goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replied. "I love you." He silently pulled the door shut.

Frey was completely floored. The silence in her room was only broken by the sound of wood on wood as her brush plummeted to the ground, in unison with her stomach. She stared blankly at herself in the mirror, then noticed the shining silver ring still hanging around her neck. She grasped it in her hand. Blindly she reached for the light switch, covering the room in darkness, then collapsed on her face, arms and legs spread, on her bed.

"Oh, Michael," she whispered, "why did this have to happen? I-I never should have gotten close to you . . ." Abruptly she slammed her fist against the soft blankets, swearing quietly under her breath. Then she sat alone in silence and darkness for hours, inwardly battling with herself and the choice she knew she had to make.

* * *

"Frey, thank you so much." Frey turned abruptly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She had come down for breakfast, but hadn't even heard Meryl come up behind her.

"What?" she asked groggily.

Meryl smiled. "Sloan, Carly, and Aidan are all a little shocked to see that Wolfwood's the kind of man Milly chose, but I've never seen Milly so happy. Vash is in really high spirits too. It's just good to have him back."

Frey nodded absentmindedly, now understanding what Meryl was talking about. The two walked into the kitchen. Milly was absolutely beaming. Also at the table sat Wolfwood and Vash, side by side, reminiscing.

Aidan stood wide-eyed as they described the time they had both faked their own deaths in a gunfight. Even Alec seemed impressed. Meryl laughed.

"I remember that tournament! Vash, you were so wasted that you hit all the targets on accident. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he grumbled, though he obviously wasn't really upset.

"Oh, remember the caravan!" Milly asked excitedly. "And Julius and Moore?"

"That's right," Wolfwood said, leaning back in his chair. "That's when you shot them both with rubber bullets so everyone would think they were dead."

"Yeah, and you shot me with one of those things at point-blank range. Jerk."

Wolfwood began to laugh, slapping Vash on the back. "Ah, those were the times. But then I left, and . . . Augusta . . ."

Awkward silence fell on the room. That subject had been avoided for years. In the silence, however, the radio, which had been unheard before, could be heard clearly.

"Yesterday, reports were made of another massacre," a voice almost covered by static was saying. Frey stiffened. "The murderer has once again left the trademark word, Knives, apparently written in blood . . ." Static interrupted again, this time causing the voice to fade into nothing. Vash looked sadly at Meryl.

"You know what I have to do." She nodded solemnly.

"I'm going too." It was Wolfwood.

"No Wolfwood, you just got back, and-"

"Oh come on, you're not really going to leave me out of the fun, are you?"

Vash actually smiled, shaking his head.

Sloan spoke up. "Well, then I'm going."

"No offense buddy, but this is a little out of your league." Sloan whirled on Wolfwood, highly offended.

"How would you know?" he demanded. "You've been dead for nineteen years anyway, and you're only back because of some evil magic or something," he said, glancing rather conspicuously at Frey. "I'm a highly experienced officer in the cavalry! I know this is not game, and I'm much more capable than you seem to believe!"

Wolfwood's twitching eye wasn't missed, but he managed to answer in a calm voice. "This is the man that is responsible for my death, Mr. Fallon. Besides, it would mean a lot if you stayed behind and took care of Milly." At that Sloan fell silent, realizing that with Vash and Wolfwood gone he would be the only man left. What he failed to see was that he could hardly make a difference anyway. Still, Wolfwood had been sincere in his desire for Sloan to take care of Milly.

Frey looked at Milly, fully expecting her to protest. After all, she had just gotten her dead husband back. But she was just smiling at Wolfwood, her eyes shimmering with tears. "By careful, dear," she whispered. He nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly. Frey raised an eyebrow, wondering why Milly was so willing to let him risk his life but so restraining on Michael. Then again, she had eventually decided to let him go. And she probably had a lot more control over her son than Wolfwood.

Vash stood up abruptly. "Well, we'd better all get packed. The rest of you have to get back to December, you know." Michael rose also, though in protest.

"What do you mean? I'm sticking with you."

"Me too," said Alec. Aidan remained silent due to her father's presence, but the look in her eyes clearly revealed her desire to accompany them as well.

"We're perfectly capable fighters," Michael continued to argue, "isn't that right, Frey?" To everyone's surprise, Frey just shook her head.

"Listen to Vash this time, Michael. We should just stay." At that moment the fight was given up, so shocked were Michael and Alec. Meryl spoke up, however.

"At least let us accompany you to September. You'll be going that way, won't you? And besides, it won't take us too long to reach December from there."

"No," Vash said flatly, "it's too dangerous."

"Vash." He glanced down to where she stood, her arms crossed and angrily tapping her foot. She hadn't been assigned to track Vash the Stampede for nothing. He sighed.

"Alright. But promise me that you'll all go back after we make it that far, okay?"

Everyone in the room nodded their consent, though only a few of them really meant it.

* * *

It was sunset. Everyone had settled down after packing, which meant they were either sleeping or visiting inside somewhere. Frey stood in the middle of her room, her bag slung over her shoulder. She glanced around at it one more time, then lifted Michael's replacement window and stepped onto the fire escape Legato had sat on just a week before. As silently as possible, she climbed down it, stepping onto the soft dirt road. And she started on her way.

She had barely traveled a block when a voice interrupted her endeavor.

"What do you think you're doing?" She jumped, expecting to see Michael step out of the shadows. Thankfully, it was just Wolfwood. She sighed.

"You know I have to go, Mr. Wolfwood. They gave me one week to bring you here and return to them. I'm pushing my deadline as it is."

It was as if he hadn't heard her explanation. "That was pretty smart of you, convincing Michael and Alec to not come with us. You just didn't want them to get hurt, right?"

Frey smiled wryly. "Am I that apparent?"

"Yes."

She was silent, wishing for everything she was worth that he would just let her leave.

"Tell me, will you fight alongside Knives when Vash and I come to defeat him?" She froze, shocked. She hadn't even considered having to fight Vash or Wolfwood, or any of them for that matter. Seeing the effect his words were having on her, Wolfwood continued.

"Look kid, I don't care about how you know Knives or what you were doing with him. That's your business. But you obviously want nothing to do with him, or at least I think so . . ."

"Of course!" Frey said, surprised he would even suggest anything otherwise, "It's not like I _want_ to go back."

"Then why are you?"

She turned on him, this time angry. And Wolfwood got the first taste of what his son had been dealing with for weeks now.

"I don't have a choice, Wolfwood!" she yelled, her eyes glowing like hot embers. "If I don't go back, our deal is off. What would you do?"

Wolfwood let his cigarette drop from his mouth and crushed it under his brown shoe. "Nineteen years ago I was one of them, kid," he answered, not looking at her, "and leaving them cost me my life." Frey fell back a step, a long past conversation with Michael running through her head again. _That's right . . . he was apprenticed to Chapel._

"Believe me, if I could die to escape them, I would in a second." Her statement made Wolfwood's eyes widen, her conviction being deeper than he thought. "But in this case, I won't just be putting myself in danger if I don't join them. They'll kill you, and probably the others, too." Wolfwood half-smiled.

"Don't you think they still wanted to kill Vash after I was dead? You know kid, he isn't called the humanoid typhoon for nothing. We'd all be willing to fight for you, if you'd just let us. We won't let anything bad happen."

Frey tried to retort, but found herself unable to. His argument was temptingly convincing. Wolfwood saw that he had achieved his purpose, as she was at least considering it. He turned to return to the hotel.

"Take your time in making your decision. But if you _do_ go, I think everyone else at least deserves to know why you're leaving." Frey cringed, remembering her promise to him to tell the others "eventually." And she was chagrined to admit that he was right. She couldn't just disappear again.

"Think about it," Wolfwood said, leaving it at that. In a few moments he had disappeared. Frey ran a hand through her hair, sighing deeply and looking up at the sky.

"Stupid priest. You just had to do that, didn't you?"


	13. Birthright

Thanks so much to all of you who actually reviewed this time around, especially you guys who have been doing it consistently. I hope you enjoy this chapter (it's one of my favorites).

Kenta Divina: You had some great questions. I'm afraid my answers won't satisfy you, though. As far as _how_ the Gung-ho Gun that raises the dead (he has a name, it comes up later) does his work, well, I haven't really come up with a scientific explanation. In my mind, it's just a mystery, an enigma, like why Dominique has that eye, or how Leonof can control puppets. Nearly nothing is revealed about the Gung-ho Guns and their pasts, and I intended for this guy to be the same way. So it's up to your imagination. And why does he do it? Well, why do any of the Gung-ho Guns do it? Sorry, but he really just isn't a character I meant to explore or analyze, he's more of a plot device. I know, I know, that really doesn't help.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun or any of its characters.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 13: Birthright**_

"_Excuse me? Excuse me, miss? Are you okay?"_

"_Is she alive?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_No, please . . . don't take me back . . ."_

"_Oh my gosh! She's still alive! Somebody, get some water over here!"_

"_How long do you think she's been out here?"_

"_A week, at least."_

"_And she made it?"_

"_She's got a strong will, that's all I can say." _

_

* * *

_

"Mom! Mom, she's gone!"

Milly looked up from where she stood outside of the hotel. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"Frey's gone!"

Alec moaned. "Not again."

"I'm over here!"

Everyone glanced to the source of the voice. Something was coming at them from down the road, moving at a fast pace and blowing up a cloud of sand behind it. Frey yelled, bringing the motorcycle to a sharp halt and nearly tipping it over. She looked at Wolfwood, shaking her head at him and breathing heavily.

"I swear I'll never get the hang of this thing," she muttered between breaths. Then she winked. Wolfwood smiled, nodding in the approval of her decision. Michael took note of the short exchange, but said nothing.

"Oh," Milly said, smiling, "well, are you ready to go?" Frey nodded. She began to climb off of the motorcycle, but Wolfwood shook his head.

"No you don't. You're staying on that thing. Michael can drive." Frey stared at him, appalled that he would even suggest it.

"I don't think-"

"You don't have a choice," he interrupted. There's not enough room for you in one of the cars." Frey glanced past him at the two cars. One was Sloan's. There was room for five people in it. That probably meant Carly, Sloan, Aidan, Milly, and Wolfwood. Then there was the one Vash had driven. Most of the car's back seat was taken up by the Cross Punisher. That left three seats, one for Meryl, one for Vash, and one for Alec. Wolfwood and Michael were the only ones that could drive the motorcycle, too. There was no way Sloan was going to let Aidan ride it, and Alec and Michael would never ride together. And the 'adults' that would actually consider riding it were probably all in on Wolfwood's scheme anyway. Frey glared at him.

_You're disgusting._

He shrugged.

The cars were finished being loaded, both with luggage and people. Frey noticed that Alec and Aidan seemed somewhat reluctant to get into separate cars. She smirked. Something had happened. Aidan would never hear the end of this one.

* * *

"_Hey, Bro. You got some room in your hospital for another patient?"_

"_Who?"_

"_This girl."_

"_What happened to her?"_

"_I was bringing a busload of people here to September, and we found her in the middle of the desert."_

"_And she's still alive?"_

"_Yep. She's needs attention, though, as soon as possible."_

"_I can do that." _

_

* * *

_

"Frey! I can't believe you just did that!" Alec glared at her in disgust as she swallowed the chicken she had just swiped from his plate. She shrugged.

"Hey, a girl's got to eat."

"That's what _your_ plate is for."

Frey just stuck out her tongue, grabbing another piece.

"Frey!"

Vash watched their playful banter melancholily. Four days had passed since they had left Cerin City. Getting away from the site of a massacre had put everyone in generally higher spirits, but they all knew that they couldn't keep on going like this forever. For him, Wolfwood, Milly, and Meryl, it had been just like old times, as short-lived as it was. And it was even better to have the rest of the family along. But they had to split up soon. Knives wouldn't wait for them to be done reliving the past before he struck again.

Frey and Alec had been rather down, too. Sure, now they were teasing each other and messing around, but Vash knew it was probably just to get their minds off the current situation. When they had arrived here, Alec and Frey had immediately headed home, to the hospital where they lived with Alec's grandfather, the doctor. To their surprise, however, their home was abandoned. Not even a note had been left in the doctor's absence. He had left without a trace, and no one in town had any idea where he had gone.

Vash was shaken out of his thoughts as a handful of spaghetti hit him in the side of the face. He glanced at Alec, who had a horrified look on his face.

"I-I was aiming at Frey . . ."

Vash calmly picked up his napkin and wiped the food off of his face, most of the table watching him and barely suppressing their laughs. Then he slowly lifted his glass and emptied its contents on Alec's head.

"Oh, you're gonna get it."

The table erupted. The rest of the bowl of spaghetti ended up on Aidan's head, and Milly pouted as Michael grabbed her fourth pudding cup right out of her hand and chucked it at Wolfwood. Sloan was the only one to excuse himself and leave the table, disgusted with the juvenile behavior. They looked ridiculous. Vash was screaming like a banshee. Milly was furiously collecting all of the pudding she could find, not wanting to sacrifice it for the fight. Aidan was covered in red sauce, as was almost everyone else by now. He shook his head. It was pathetic.

"Hey Sloan, come join us!"

"Not on your life," he muttered, ignoring Vash. Vash shrugged and turned around to rub a handful of ketchup all over Meryl's face, who responded by screaming and hitting him on the forehead with an egg.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Everyone froze, suspended in mid-duck or throw. The manager of the restaurant stood by the table, fuming.

Frey smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. My fault."

Muttering under his breath, the man roughly shoved a mop and bucket into Frey's hands.

"Get this place cleaned up _now_," he stressed, his face still a dangerous shade of red. Then he turned on his heel and disappeared through the staff doors. Frey's face reddened, though not in anger, as she saw how ridiculous they all looked, besides her. She had psychically deflected most of the assaults on her, and while the others complained about it being unfair, she was grateful she had done it. She spent the whole time they were cleaning themselves off mopping and scrubbing.

* * *

Vash sunk into a large chair in he and Meryl's hotel room. The whole group had gathered there, still almost giddy from the earlier food fight. He sighed, deeply satisfied. Everything was so peaceful now. Wolfwood and Milly couldn't look happier. The same was true for Frey and Michael. And watching Alec and Aidan was hilarious as they stole glances at each other when her parents weren't looking.

It was as if nothing could disturb their small sphere of happiness. Everything was perfect. Then Vash sat up.

"Hey Wolfwood, do you feel that?"

The priest nodded quietly. "Yeah, it's weird, like some kind of weird deja vu." He paused, and the rest of the room grew silent as they sensed something pass between the two. Their faces were disturbed and contemplative. Then Vash's eyes widened.

"Oh no."

He bolted out of the room, Wolfwood at his heels.

"Vash!"

Meryl stood up, frowning, and ran after the two of them. Milly followed, though her countenance held more concern than anger. The rest glanced at each other, shrugged, and followed them.

Vash and Wolfwood were running to the east part of town. Meryl quickened her pace, yelling at them from behind. Vash glanced over his shoulder.

"No!" he shouted, waving his arms at them to turn around, "Go back! It's too dangerous!"

Meryl gritted her teeth and kept running. "I'm not called Derringer Meryl for nothing, Vash," she muttered, though he couldn't hear her. Vash groaned at her persistence, suddenly seeing again how she was able to keep tabs on him back when they had first met. He said something to Wolfwood, and the two of them skidded to a halt. Vash grabbed Meryl by the shoulders as she reached them.

"Meryl, please, stop following me. I just don't want you to get hurt." The hurt look in her eyes was almost too much for him to bear. No matter what he did, he couldn't completely protect her from pain. In fact, he thought, inwardly kicking himself, he was usually the cause of it.

Meryl's eyes fell. "The last time you ran off like this to fight something dangerous and told me to stay behind, without even telling me what it was, I-" she stopped, clenching her fists and tensing. Her voice clearly gave away the fact that she was crying when she spoke again. "I-I didn't see you again for five years." She looked up, her eyes swimming with tears. "I don't want to be left behind again, Vash."

Vash looked as if he had been shot. He shook his head slowly. "Meryl, I promise I'll come back, okay? Just please take everyone else and get away from here as fast as you can."

At seeing the reluctance and pleading in her eyes, he leaned down and took her in his arms, allowing her to cry on him. Then he softly brushed a strand of her short black hair away and whispered in her ear.

"It's Legato, Meryl." Frey, who was the only one close enough to hear the exchange, froze.

Meryl looked up at him in shock. She didn't even consider doubting him, even though Legato had been killed by him nearly two decades ago. She couldn't disbelieve the look in his eyes.

"No Vash, you can't . . ."

Vash didn't answer. He just looked at her sadly, then turned to run again, his fingers slipping slowly and reluctantly from her own. He hesitated, still watching her, then finally turned, motioning to Wolfwood that it was time to leave Milly, too. Then they were gone.

The two women stood there for a few moments, blankly watching the trail to possible death their two men had just taken. Meryl took a deep, shaky breath.

"Look everyone, we have to get away from here as fast as we possibly can, get back to the hotel, get the cars, and pack everything. Come on." No one questioned her. If she had been deterred from following Vash, being the most determined of them all, they weren't about to question her. Only Frey remained as the others all turned to run in the opposite direction.

Michael turned when he realized she wasn't there. He ran back and grabbed her by the sleeve, trying to pull her along after him. He couldn't even get her to budge. Stepping in front of her, he took her by the shoulders and began to gently shake her. She was snapped out of her daze and looked up at him. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes wide.

"I'm going after them, Michael."

"What?"

"I'll explain everything later, but I've got to go after them." Michael almost protested, but then saw that it would be futile and only nodded.

"Alright. But I'm going too."

"No, Michael-"

"Frey."

She looked into his eyes. The bright blue orbs were strong, decided, showing no sign of fear or unsureness. She sighed. "Fine."

* * *

"_Where am I?"_

"_Oh! You're finally awake!"_

"_Who are you?"_

"_My name's Alec. Who are you?"_

"_I-I can't remember . . ."_

"_Don't worry. My grandpa said you might be suffering from amnesia, but you'll regain your memory soon. We'll take good care of you here."_

"_You mean I can stay?"_

"_Of course."_

"_. . . really?" _

_

* * *

_

"Dad! Slow down!" Sloan skidded to a halt, looking back impatiently at his trailing daughter. Aidan placed her hands on her knees, leaning over and breathing heavily.

"Dad, Michael and Frey are gone." The calvary man groaned, the truth being confirmed to his eyes.

"I'll go back." It was Meryl. "Milly and I will go find them. You guys just keep going. Wait for us near the outskirts of town. We'll be there soon."

"No. You heard Vash, it's too dangerous. I'll go."

"Listen Sloan, you don't understand the gravity of this situation. You have to get out of here _now_. Milly and I have more experience with this kind of stuff than you do. And I promise we'll hurry, okay?"

Sloan hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Meryl nodded.

He sighed. "Just hurry." Meryl smiled, thankful for his trust in her. She grabbed Milly by the arm, who followed her without protest. Sloan, Carly, Aidan, and Alec watched for a few more moments, until they were gone, then continued in their endeavor to escape the city.

* * *

"_Do you remember anything about where you came from yet?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So? What's your name?"_

"_Frey."_

"_That's pretty. Where are you from?"_

"_It doesn't matter anymore." _

_

* * *

_

"Frey! Hold up!" Michael dodged another screaming person and managed to catch up with her. People were swarming past them in masses, all of them terrified and many screaming. Michael grabbed a passing woman by the arm.

"Excuse me Miss, could you please tell us what's going on?"

She looked at them as if they were daft. "You mean you haven't heard! Vash the Stampede is here! He's going to kill us all!"

Michael smiled. "That's ridiculous. I know Vash, and he would never-" the force of Frey's elbow digging into his side cut him off. The woman pulled herself free from him, her eyes reflecting even greater shock, and disappeared.

"What was that for!"

Frey rolled her eyes. "These people want to see Vash _dead_, Michael. You shouldn't go telling them that you're affiliated with him."

"Oh."

The pair continued weaving their way through the crowds, ignoring the shouts they received to turn around.

"What is Vash up to?"

"He's probably using his 'daily massacre' speech again."

Frey raised a questioning eyebrow. "His what?"

"He's done it before. He uses it to clear out large amounts of people quickly. But the last time he used it was before . . ."

"Before what?"

Michael shook his head. "Never mind."

* * *

"_Hey Alec, have you seen my other earring?"_

"_What earring?"_

"_You know, the red flower ones. One of them is missing."_

"_Sorry, I haven't seen it. Where did you get those, anyway?"_

"_My father gave them to me, a long time ago."_

"_Oh. I'm really sorry, Frey." _

_

* * *

_

Vash plopped down on the bench next to Wolfwood, sighing. The crowds were finally gone. Wolfwood lit a cigarette.

"You know, you looked absolutely ridiculous out there."

Vash shrugged. "If that's what it takes . . ."

"So what do we do now?"

"Now we wait."

_I don't understand why you bother yourself with saving them. They'll all die eventually anyway._

Vash leapt to his feet and immediately looked up. Standing on the roof of the building in front of them, watching them closely with his evil ochre eyes, was none other than Legato.

The cigarette slipped from Wolfwood's mouth to the ground.

"What are you doing here?" Vash demanded, his voice tight.

Wolfwood could only imagine what Vash was experiencing at the moment. Here was the only man Vash had ever killed. He had regretted it from that day. Now his regret was removed, but that still left the problem that Vash's brother's top minion stood before them, somehow raised from the dead.

_Merely picking up what belongs to me._

"She was right," Wolfwood whispered, his eyes never leaving Legato's, "he did come."

"What?"

Wolfwood shook his head and stood. "Nothing. I'll explain later."

The slightest of smiles fell on Legato's lips as he heard Wolfwood's first comment.

_And it appears as if she's saving me the trouble of looking for her._

Both men on the ground immediately tensed. In the silence, the two nearing voices were impossible to miss.

"Vash . . . Vash! Where are you!"

"Vash! Dad?"

"No Frey, DON'T!"

Frey and Michael appeared from behind the nearest building. Wolfwood watched them in horror. Vash, however, just continued watching Legato. Frey and Michael, ignoring the warning from Wolfwood, followed Vash's gaze.

Frey's blood instantly ran cold.

"Who is that?"

"Legato," Frey murmured under her breath, her voice burning with hatred and her eyes glowing with rage.

Michael glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, about to question how she would know something like that, but stopped when he saw the look on her face. He glanced back up at the man on the roof. He was surprised to discover that Legato was watching him now. His eyes locked on the piercing yellow ones, eyes that seemed to penetrate all the way through his very being. He couldn't look away.

Slowly, Legato outstretched his hand toward Michael. Frey practically growled. _What is he planning? He's going to hurt Michael. Something bad is going to happen . . ._

"Stop Legato! Don't hurt him!"

Legato's hand paused in mid-air. His deadly gaze shifted from Michael to Frey, who now stood, black Long Colt in hand, shaking. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then steadied the gun so it was pointing straight at Legato. The shiny black metal was heavy in her hands, unfamiliar.

Vash had stopped breathing, his eyes wide from the force of the blow. Frey was holding his brother's gun. _Knives'_ gun.

"I-I don't understand . . ."

Legato dropped his hand indifferently, his face displaying a barely discernable crooked grin.

"Perfect."

The top of Knives' gun flew off, landing a few feet away from Frey and Michael. Michael glanced at it, then at the blinding white cylinder that had been revealed in the gun. He found himself unable to speak. It was emitting enormous amounts of light, too much. Yellow bolts of electricity sparked around it, making him fall back a step.

"Frey, no!"

Vash was the only one to react, running forward and grabbing Michael. He dragged him away from Frey, then threw him over his shoulder, he and Wolfwood running for all they were worth away from her and Legato.

Michael wouldn't go easily, though. He kicked and struggled against Vash, screaming at Frey once he had regained his voice.

"Frey! No Vash, stop! We have to help her, we have to . . . FREY!"

The gun was beginning to expand, spreading like liquid metal up Frey's right arm, her fake arm. The arm with the power of a plant.

Michael cringed and clenched his eyes shut as Frey's terrified screams filled his ears. Then he, Vash, and Wolfwood rounded a corner, and she disappeared from his sight.

The gun eventually enveloped her entire arm, creating another huge and intimidating gun of some kind. She watched helplessly as Michael, Vash, and Wolfwood disappeared, abandoning her. Thin red lines began to carve their way across the gun, looking like thin red veins against a charred weapon. Then an area near the barrel of the gun opened, revealing within it a large yellow sphere of energy. It began to glow brighter, and Frey screamed even louder as she sensed that it was about to fire. She had no control at all, and the pain was excruciating.

"STOP! Stop it, _please_! LEGATO!"

_Our master wishes you to take this with you._

The words flashed across her mind like lightning. Her eyes widened. Those were the words Legato had said to her when he had given her the Long Colt.

_Knives was planning this! He knew this was going to happen! He knew I'd stay,_ she thought, meanwhile collapsing in defeat, _he wanted me to kill them . . ._

She watched powerlessly as the angel arm fired, engulfing the city in a bright light and destroying everything in its wake.

_Please let everyone else be okay,_ she prayed, _please.

* * *

"__Oh my gosh!"_

"_Aaah! What are you doing in here!"_

"_D-did you just move that table . . . with your mind?"_

"_Uh, yeah, please don't tell the doctor!"_

"_Tell me how you did that!"_

"_I'm sorry Alec, it's not something that can be taught."_

"_Darn it." _

_

* * *

_

Milly and Meryl stopped dead in their tracks, eyes wide. A huge dome of white light was expanding over the east side of the city.

"Vash . . ." Meryl whispered disbelievingly, "it can't be."

Milly shook herself out of her shock, having enough sense to grab Meryl and run in the opposite direction since the light was still spreading.

"No, not again . . ."

"It's okay, Meryl, he'll be fine."

Meryl allowed herself to be dragged along by the larger woman at first, staring blankly at the huge dome. Then something inside of her snapped.

"No! Vash!" Without warning she pushed herself away from Milly, turning to run towards the light again. Milly practically tackled her to the ground to stop her.

"No Meryl! There's nothing you can do! We have to get out of here!"

"I don't want to lose him again, I don't want to lose him . . ." she trailed off as tears began to run down her cheeks. Milly took advantage of the opportunity and lifted her again, beginning to run away. The fact that Michael and Nicholas were there too briefly flashed through her mind, but as she glanced at the struggling and desperate figure of Meryl, she knew where she was more needed.

"It's okay Meryl. They'll make it."

* * *

"_So that's it. That's my story."_

"_I, I don't know what to say."_

"_I told you it would be a lot to swallow."_

"_Frey, I'm so sorry, I had no idea-"_

"_Don't worry about it. It's fine."_

"_Are you going to be okay?"_

"_By the look on your face you would think I'd be the one asking that."_

"_Very funny, Frey. But honestly, if you ever need anything,"_

"_I know, I know, you'll be there. Thanks Alec."_

"_Anytime." _

_

* * *

_

"Oh my . . ."

"What is it?"

"Get in the car!"

Carly, Aidan, and Alec turned to follow Sloan's gaze, only to see the eastern half of the city surrounded by a dome of pure light.

"What is that!" Alec yelled over the noise of crumbling buildings, his hair whipping against his face with the strong wind.

"Just get in the car!"

He, Aidan, and Carly obeyed, watching the light in shock as Sloan floored it and took them away. Alec reached down and squeezed Aidan's hand reassuringly. She smiled weakly at him, then spoke in an unheard whisper.

"Oh, I hope they're safe."


	14. Aftermath

Thanks again to all of my reviewers. Your comments are greatly appreciated!

**ReadingWhiz86**: Thanks so much for reviewing consistently and sticking with my story! Your feedback is always great.

**Kenta Divina:** You're questions should be clarified in this chapter. If not, just let me know and I'll do my best to explain everything.

**Luna-Kitsune-Blu:** Wow. That was amazing. I think that's one of the most flattering things anyone has every said to me. Thanks _so _much. I hope the rest of the story isn't a disappointment for you.

Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 14: Aftermath**_

"First July, then Augusta, now September. That man has to be stopped. My home is rubble now. I don't even care about the reward anymore. That man is endangering our homes, our families, our very way of existence. He has to go, for the benefit of us all."

"How many casualties?"

"We haven't found any dead yet, but plenty are injured."

"None dead?"

"I said not yet. That doesn't mean there aren't any."

"Hey, could we get a stretcher over here? I found someone, and she doesn't look so good."

"Is she conscious?"

"No. Come see for yourself."

"Oh, you're right. It doesn't look like she made it out before the blast."

"Hey, maybe she can tell us what happened."

"We don't need to know what happened. Vash the Stampede destroyed another city. What else is there to know?"

"I guess you're right. Well, let's get her out of here."

"Where are the injured being taken?"

"The calvary has some tents set up near the edge of the part of the city that was destroyed. Take her there."

* * *

"Wh-where am I?"

A large woman looked at Frey and smiled from where she had been wringing out a washcloth. She placed it back on Frey's forehead and smoothed out the corners.

"Don't worry, dear," she said in a warm, motherly voice, "you're safe now. You're in one of the hospital tents the calvary set up."

"The calvary? What are they doing here?"

"They got here as soon as they heard about the incident."

"What incident?"

The woman's smile faded slightly, her eyes taking on a look of pity. "Oh, poor dear, don't you remember anything that happened? It's no surprise, really. It's a miracle you even survived. You were in the middle of it all, after all."

"In the middle of what?"

"That bright dome of white light that destroyed half of the city."

Frey's body went numb as a rush of memories and emotions passed through her. Suddenly it all came back: Legato's appearance, Vash and Wolfwood running away, Michael being dragged, screaming, with them, and her arm, the arm that had destroyed half of her home town.

She bolted into a sitting position, causing the woman to jump in surprise.

"What are you doing? You need to stay in bed!"

Frey ignored her. She peeled the cloth off of her head and flung the tent door aside, walking quickly past everyone around her back to the scene of the "incident".

Her footsteps faltered and her eyes grew wide as she reached the area. Nothing had remained intact. Pieces of buildings littered the ground. It was one massive pile of rubble. She glanced at the spot where she had stood as the angel arm had fired. On the ground lay Knives' Long Colt.

Ignoring the calvary men that warned her to stay back, she walked to the spot, lifting the gun. She just looked at it for a few moments, taking in everything that had happened. Then, hatred burning within her, she chucked it into the destruction, as far away from her as she could get it.

_I can't go back to them now. Not after this. I can't. Not now, not ever._

The black gun landed with a clink on top of a slab of cement, which was cracked and broken. A pair of almost silent feet, held within two light brown boots, walked to it and stopped. A darker brown gloved hand, fingerless and with silver studs on the knuckles, reached down, and slipping its fingers around the gun, quietly pocketed it and continued on.

* * *

"Michael, what are you doing! Get back here!"

"No! I'm going to find Frey!"

"Michael, we don't even know if-"

A hand on Wolfwood's shoulder cut him off. He turned to find Vash standing behind him, solemnly shaking his head.

"Just let him go." The priest nodded reluctantly.

"If you say so."

Michael stopped when he reached the site, breathing heavily. Several calvary members and a few citizens were there, but Frey was nowhere to be seen. His face fell and he sighed deeply.

So this was the power of the angel arm. Vash had told him about it, but he had never completely comprehended its full capacity for destruction. He had never seen July or Augusta. By the time he was born, they had been rebuilt, for the most part. This was beyond anything his imagination could have ever conjured.

"Him! He said he knew Vash the Stampede!"

Michael turned to see the very woman that he had stopped earlier pointing straight at him, speaking rapidly with several calvary members. Before he could react, Michael was on the ground, his arms being roughly pulled behind him and handcuffed. He remained silent, too dazed to rebel. A strong man shoved him into the back of a car, slamming the door shut and muttering curses at Michael under his breath. He just watched the man, his eyes empty and detached. The man shuddered.

"People like him don't deserve to live," he murmured to a comrade. The other man nodded, then just turned away.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," he answered, pocketing Michael's cross-shaped gun.

* * *

Frey dove behind what was left of a bar as a calvary truck drove by. She sighed in relief as they passed without noticing her, then left her hiding spot and continued on, though she didn't know where to.

She had no idea why she was running. She had nothing to run from. The people didn't suspect her. That had been obvious enough when she had awoken in a hospital under their care. But for some reason she just couldn't face them. The guilt was overwhelming. She knew what she had to do. But that was a lot easier said than done.

She ducked behind a boulder as another car drove by. As she watched this one, she noticed a person sitting in the back, almost like a prisoner. She raised an eyebrow. Who would the calvary have arrested?

"Excuse me, sir?"

A passing calvary man stopped at the sound of her voice.

"Oh, are you all right, young lady? You're not hurt, are you?" he added, noticing her various bandages.

"No," she replied, "could you just please tell me who that was in that car that just passed?"

The compassion on his face instantly evaporated, replaced with a hard, unmoving frown.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Oh, I was just wondering," she answered, as innocent sounding as she could manage.

"We caught him near the scene of the disaster," he replied distastefully, "a woman told us that he admitted to being affiliated with Vash the Stampede, the demonic monster that caused this mess in the first place." His voice was thick with bitterness, almost as if there was bile in his mouth.

Frey nodded gratefully and waited until the man's attention had been averted to something else, then continued slowly on her way. His explanation had made her cringe. The prisoner had to be Michael. There were no other possibilities. And this all meant that Vash was being blamed for something she had done. She frowned, mentally kicking herself.

_This is all my fault. They're all suffering because of me._

Her footsteps halted. She couldn't just let them take Michael to prison. He was innocent. He would have stopped all of this if he could have. She sighed deeply, remembering the promise she had given Wolfwood shortly after they had met. This was her last chance to uphold it. And Michael had a right to know the truth.

Wincing on the inside, she changed directions. Her new path would take her straight to the jail.

* * *

_How? How can she be a plant if she's related to Rem? Unless she isn't related to Rem at all. But that can't be. The names match, and she looks so much like her . . ._

"Hey, Needle Noggin?" Vash looked up at Wolfwood.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

The Stampede smiled slightly. "Yeah," he lied.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I just don't understand how Frey can be a plant," he answered with a sigh. He didn't bother explaining his own situation as a plant to Wolfwood. If Wolfwood had once been a subordinate of Knives, he wouldn't require that clarification.

Wolfwood glanced down guiltily, putting on his sunglasses so that Vash couldn't see his eyes.

"Um, Vash, there's something you should know about Frey." Vash glanced up at him, confused, but waiting silently for an answer. "It wasn't one of her friends that revived me," the priest continued, "it was a Gung-Ho Gun."

Vash stopped dead. _Is he, is he implying that Frey is working for . . . Knives?_

Wolfwood didn't miss the look on Vash's face, so he quickly continued. "Knives made a deal with her, that if he brought me back, she would join them. He wants her because of her powers." Relief flooded the Stampede's face. So Knives had a way to revive the dead. That explained Legato's appearance. There were probably plenty of other Gung-Ho Guns working for him, old and new, but at least Vash rested assured that Frey wasn't one of them, or at least not of her own volition.

"I don't know how she was able to use the angel arm, but it probably has something to do with Knives."

Vash looked up at Wolfwood again, a new question raising in his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I promised her that I'd let her tell you all about it when she was ready."

Vash sighed. "She was supposed to have returned to Knives by now, wasn't she? That's why Legato came after her."

"Yeah," the priest replied guiltily, "I'm to blame for that. I convinced her to stay with us. I just thought that we could handle whatever Knives threw at us, especially with the help of her and Michael and Alec." He shook his head. "But I never expected this."

"It's not your fault. I probably would have done the same."

Wolfwood replied with a bittersweet smile. "Wow, we're actually agreeing on something for once."

"Yeah. Funny, isn't it?"

"So what's the plan?"

Vash glanced sadly at the setting sun. "I don't know, Wolfwood. I just don't know."

* * *

Meryl's eyes widened in both relief and fear as she spotted a figure in the distance. It was Wolfwood, but he appeared to be alone.

"Milly, isn't that Wolfwood?"

The taller woman glanced in the direction Meryl was pointing, her face immediately melting into a relieved grin. She ran to him, followed closely by Meryl.

The priest glanced slowly at them as he heard their approaching footsteps. His look made Milly slow, then stop, a few feet in front of him. His face was blank, his eyes masked by a pair of black sunglasses. He stood leaning casually against a wall, his hands shoved in his pockets, and with an already half-used cigarette hanging limply from his slightly parted lips.

"Nicholas, what's wrong?"

His gaze fell from hers, the question and hurt in her eyes too much for him to bear.

"Where are Vash, Michael, and Frey?" Meryl interrupted.

"Vash went to find Sloan, Carly, Aidan, Alec, and you guys," he answered coldly.

"Why?"

"To tell you what happened, and then send you back to December, where it's safe."

"What happened? Where are Michael and Frey?" Meryl demanded, her eyes brimming with tears of agitation.

Wolfwood let the remains of his cigarette fall from his mouth, crushing the ashes under his foot. "Michael went to find Frey," was his next ambiguous answer.

"So where is Frey!"

Wolfwood sighed deeply. "I don't know, Meryl. That's why Michael went to find her."

Meryl frowned, her face burning with indignation. She grabbed Wolfwood by the collar, pulling his face close to her so that he had no choice but to look directly at her.

"Meryl-"

"Be quiet, Milly! Listen Mr. Wolfwood, I want to know what happened! Just tell me what's going on! Was it Vash! Was that light . . ." she broke off, her shoulders slouching and her face falling away from Wolfwood's. "It was him, wasn't it. It happened again."

Wolfwood continued gazing at her with his apparently indifferent expression. "I think Vash should tell you," he answered quietly.

* * *

"This is for my home! And this is for my daughter, who you nearly killed! And this is for-" the man dressed in a calvary uniform continued with his blind justifications, accompanying each one with either a swift kick or a hard punch. Vash received the ruthless beating without objection.

"Why won't you fight back!" the man demanded. "Why won't you let me kill you with a fair fight! Curse you! Why won't you listen to me!" He caught Vash in the jaw, sending him flying onto his back, a thin trail of blood running from his nose.

"I'm sorry, sir, for what happened. But there was nothing I could do to stop it. If it's of any consolation, though, you can do what you wish with me."

"That's not good enough! You're supposed to be suffering! You're supposed to be suffering for what you've done!"

"Stop it!"

The man looked up, but Vash didn't. He knew the voice. It was Meryl. With her were Milly, Wolfwood, Aidan, Alec, Carly, and Sloan. After finding everyone else and failing to find Vash with them, she, Milly, and Wolfwood had led the search for the Stampede.

"What are you doing!"

"I'm going to kill this murderer," the man replied, his voice dripping with enmity.

"But he's not a murderer," Meryl quietly protested.

Wolfwood stepped forward, grabbing the man by the collar and shoving him backwards. "You'd be wise to leave now. Vash the Stampede has friends."

"Don't," Vash said weakly from his position on the ground, "don't get yourself or anyone else involved in this. It won't help Frey if we all get blamed for what happened."

The man fell back a step. "F-Frey? Frey Buskus? You know her?"

Wolfwood slipped off his glasses, his steely gray eyes locking on the man's weak brown ones. "This did not happen," he said, his voice cool and clipped. "You don't know anything about Vash the Stampede, or Frey Buskus, or any of the rest of us. You saw nothing. Understand?" He gave the man a quick glimpse of a pistol hidden in his jacket to emphasize his point.

"I'm not leaving," the man answered stubbornly. "Kill me if you want, but I'll get that monster first, if it's the last thing I do." He pointed to Vash.

"You _will _leave, young man, even if I have to drag you away by your pants. And that's an order."

Everyone but Vash glanced at Sloan.

"You have no right to order me around like that. This is none of your business, so just shut your big trap and get out of here."

Sloan stepped forward, towering over the younger soldier. His face was hard, but barely expressing the anger that was obviously there.

"I have every right to order you around," he said, glaring daggers at the man as he pulled something out of his pocket. "I'm going to count to ten, and if you aren't gone like a scared puppy with its tail between its legs in that time, I'll have your sorry carcass court-marshaled for disobeying a superior officer."

He held something up in front of the other man, who's face instantly paled drastically. He immediately stood erect, his arm raised in a salute.

"Yes, sir, forgive me, sir. I understand, sir." He turned and walked away, his steps quick and bordering on a jog.

Alec glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye. "Wow." Vash smiled.

"Thanks, Sloan."

"Don't get used to it. I won't make a habit of helping your kind."

Vash smiled wryly, wondering what Sloan would think about "his kind" if he knew the truth about him.

Meryl fell to her knees beside Vash's recumbent body. She ran her fingers through his spiky blonde hair.

"Are you okay?"

"You should know better than to ask that."

She nodded quietly, then held a supporting hand behind his back as he sat up slowly. Vash glanced at her, then Wolfwood and Milly, and finally the rest of the group, who were completely oblivious to everything that had happened. He sighed.

"It looks like I've got some explaining to do."

* * *

"Someone, help me! Help me, please!"

Two calvary officers turned their heads toward the source of the voice. A hand was visible, clutching a dilapidated wall amidst the rubble. It moved.

"You check it out," the superior of the two said, "I've got to take care of something over here."

The younger soldier nodded, then made his way to the body. He stepped over the wall to view the condition of the victim. It was a woman. He immediately bent over, trying to turn her and make her more comfortable.

"Don't worry, Miss, we'll get you out of here, you'll be fine." She opened her chestnut eyes and smiled.

"Wait a second," the man said, a look of confusion crossing his face, "you're already bandaged. Why are you out here if someone already helped you?"

Frey lifted a hand and rested it on the man's shoulder, her smile fading. "You're right," she answered. "I'm really sorry about this." She gave a specific point between his neck and shoulder a quick squeeze, and the man fell to the ground unconscious before he could even begin to formulate a protest. Frey sat up and sighed, quickly beginning to remove the man's gray jacket.


	15. Wait an Hour

Okay, here's chapter 15. Thanks again to my reviewers, and to the rest of you, come on! Get with the program and review! Just kidding, but it really would be nice. My goal for this story right now is 50.

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 15: Wait an Hour**_

Frey glanced at herself in a piece of broken glass, formerly a mirror. The reflection looked back at her with a droll smile as she silently analyzed herself. Fortunately she had chosen a rather short and skinny soldier to accost.

The uniform was slightly large on her, but it was believable. It was made of a plain but sensible gray material, the jacket being trimmed with blue and fastened with shiny brass buttons. The pants puffed out at her knees, where her sleek, high black boots ended. She took her hair out of its ponytail and made a bun out of it on the top of her head, covering it with the standard brimmed cap all of the men wore. It looked just like the ones the crew members of the sand steamers had.

Frey nodded in approval. She looked just like one of the men of the calvary, with one exception. Quickly she peeled and tore off all of her bandages, cringing as some of them left her skin red and tender. None of the calvary members had been treated for their injuries yet. They would wait until all of the citizens were taken care of, and that would probably be awhile still.

Taking a deep breath and glancing once more at the pile on the ground next to her that consisted of her red jacket and tan pants, she turned. All she had to do was tell Michael what was going on and then leave. It would be easy enough. Right?

"Sir, I've been informed that a man associated with Vash the Stampede is being detained here. Is this true?"

The sheriff glared up at Frey from where he was reading a newspaper. He nodded shortly, then looked back down. Frey was relieved that he didn't suspect her appearance or feigned voice.

"May I have an audience with him?"

"State your name and purpose," he said as he turned a page.

Frey hesitated, slightly flustered, a feeling she was unused to.

"Um, I'm with the calvary. I've been asked to question him," she quickly lied.

The man raised an eyebrow. "The calvary, huh? I never would have guessed."

Frey wasn't ignorant enough to miss the sarcasm in his voice.

"My name is Lieutenant Buskus, sir." She immediately winced, though she did her best to hide it from the man. What had possessed her to use her real name? Hopefully he didn't know anything about her from the doctor.

"Shouldn't the calvary be sending someone with a little higher ranking than lieutenant to handle this kind of job?"

"We're running short on men, sir."

The sheriff turned another page, sinking back in his chair. "I don't know why you're even asking me for permission to see him. You guys are the ones that brought him here, anyway." He glanced up at Frey. "You're new at this, aren't you."

Frey smiled slightly. "You got me, sir. I just started. I can see him now, right?"

The man shrugged. "Go ahead. He's on the third room on the right. Oh, and by the way, you really should get yourself looked at. You've got some pretty nasty cuts." Frey nodded gratefully, ignoring the drop of blood she felt running down her face from a cut in her cheek, and walked past the man. She pushed open the door that led to the cells and walked directly to the third door on the right. She gripped the handle slowly.

The room was dark. Across it she could barely discern a set of bars, shining dully in the weak light. She took a step forward, at first not sensing any movement from within the iron cage. Her eyes adjusted slowly, and then she spotted him. He was sitting on the dirt floor, silently tracing mindless patterns in it with his finger. The small traces of doubt within her mind vanished. It was Michael Nicholas Thompson.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found her voice restricted. She closed it again and just watched him. His face was dead, emotionless. The lack of fear, anger, or any other emotion in it almost scared her. She sighed.

His eyes shifted slightly for a moment, glancing at his intruder, but other than that he didn't react at the noise. He didn't even question the meaning of her presence with a word or a searching glance. Suddenly she regained her voice.

"Michael, it's me."

His eyes registered no recognition of her voice. "Michael," she repeated, "it's me. It's Frey."

The name pierced his barrier. He looked up, this time with a steady gaze. She sensed that he was going to look away again in disappointment after a few moments, though, so she quietly slid the cap from her head and undid her bun so her raven tresses fell softly around her shoulders. He leaped to his feet.

"Frey!" he gasped, clutching the bars as if in an attempt to remove them by sheer willpower, "you're alive!"

His sudden revival touched her. She wiped a drop from her cheek, not sure if it was blood or a tear. "Oh Michael," she whispered, almost to herself.

Michael's eyes filled with concern. "What's wrong, Frey?" he asked. Then, realizing how pathetic that sounded, he dropped his gaze. Frey breathed in deeply.

"I'm here to say goodbye."

His eyes shot back up. "What?" he asked, his tone surprised and bordering on anger.

"There's something you need to know," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken.

"Frey, why are you leaving!" His voice was full of despair. This time Frey's eyes fell, unable to handle the alarm and grief apparent on his countenance.

"I'm not the person you think I am, Michael."

Seeing that he wasn't going to be able to convince her of anything until she had said what she needed to say, Michael sat back down and leaned against the wall, giving Frey a view of the side of his face. "What is it, Frey?" he asked calmly.

She took a deep breath. "First of all, my full name is Afreyla Rem Buskus." When Michael failed to react, she continued shakily. "When I was just a kid my father told me about how my grandfather, Revnunt Buskus, had died. He said that he was murdered in July City by an evil man, who had platinum blonde hair and icy blue eyes." Michael drew in a sharp breath, beginning the make the connection. "My father was just a kid at the time, but he escaped. The destruction of July followed shortly." Her voice faltered on her next comment. "He later told me that the city had been destroyed by a huge dome of white light, which some say was produced by . . . by Vash the Stampede."

She left a pause, a pause she expected to be filled by some kind of explanation by Michael, whether it proved or disproved that theory. He remained silent. So she went on, deciding she would get her questions answered when she had finished.

"Six years ago, when I was just twelve, I saw rain for the first time." Both she and Michael's minds jumped back to the last time they had experienced rain together, when she had been taken by Legato, though Michael still didn't know that.

"That night, someone broke into our house. My parents made me go to my room." She paused. "That was the last time I saw them. I heard their screams, but the next thing I knew, they were . . . dead."

Michael looked up, his face finally showing pity. Frey looked away quickly, hating to see the look on him.

"The man came to my room next," she said bitterly, "I was hiding under my bed, but he found me. He took me with him. I was with him for the next year."

"You don't talk about this a lot, do you?" Michael asked quietly.

Frey shook her head.

"Thanks for telling me."

She remained silent.

"It was the same man that killed your grandfather, wasn't it?"

Frey bit her lip, still refusing to look at him. She silently nodded, affirming his assumption.

"Who?"

"Knives," she whispered hoarsely.

Michael nodded to himself. It was as he had suspected. What other blonde, blue-eyed male murderer would have been present at the destruction of July?

Frey glared at him, hating the calm look of contemplation on his face. He still didn't get it.

"When we had arrived at his headquarters, I met Legato," she continued abruptly, drawing his gaze back to her. "He used his powers to subdue me, and another Gung-Ho Gun named Rai-dei the Blade cut my right arm off with his sword."

Michael didn't know whether to be shocked or disgusted at the fact that she was claiming that a dead man had cut off her arm. "Frey, I told you about Rai-dei. He's been dead for-"

Frey cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "Just let me finish," she said, "and I'll explain everything."

"After removing my arm, they attached another one. Knives claimed that it had the power of a plant. I still don't understand that, but somehow it gave me these powers." She psychically lifted the chair in Michael's cell as a demonstration. "It's the same arm that that _gun_ that destroyed this city was made from." She stopped, ashamed, but Michael was too shocked to notice. It all made sense now. The fake arm Knives had given her had produced psychic powers, just like Vash's had for Legato. And if it had the power of a plant as well, that explained the angel arm.

Frey filled the uncomfortable silence by picking up where she had left off. "When I was thirteen, I managed to escape. I was stranded in the desert for a while. I almost died, too. But a bus happened to come that way, and the driver was kind enough to let me on for free. He brought me here, where his brother is a doctor. That doctor healed me, and he's raised me ever since. He's Alec's grandfather."

She sighed, though she knew the worst of it wasn't over. She would let Michael ask for any more information he wanted, though.

He did. "But Frey, what about the Gung-Ho Guns? How are Legato and Rai-dei alive?"

"I didn't even know that until just awhile ago," she said thoughtlessly, "at least not until Legato kidnapped me."

"What!"

"Oh, that's right, you don't know that, either. That night I disappeared, back in Cerin City, I didn't just leave. Legato showed up and took me against my will. It was while I was with Knives that I found out that his number of followers has grown. Some of them can even revive the dead, and Knives has brought a select few back."

It was all falling into place for Michael. "But, that means it wasn't a friend of yours that brought my father back," he said carefully.

"No. It was a Gung-Ho Gun."

"Why would Knives do that?"

Frey hesitated, trying to do her best to keep her emotions from being revealed in her voice. "We made a deal."

"What kind of deal?" he asked, growing fearful.

"Knives sent Legato after me because he wanted me to join him again, now that my powers are stronger. Obviously I wasn't very pleased with that thought," she said cynically, "but I knew I probably didn't have a choice. So I decided to at least get something out of the situation, and I got Knives to promise me to bring someone back from the dead if I joined him. So I brought back your father." She had succeeded in masking her feelings as she had begun, but by the end of her explanation her voice and composure were unstable and threatening to falter.

Michael stared at the prison floor, fists clenched and eyes wide and blank. After a few moments he got up the courage to look at her.

"Why?" he asked weakly.

"Why what?" she responded, making sure to keep what she said as short as possible.

"You could have brought back your grandfather, or one of your parents, or anyone else that you've lost. What possessed you to bring back _my_ dad?"

She stopped, her eyes welling with tears for the first time since Knives had kidnapped her when she was twelve. She looked away, brushing at them fiercely. "I-I just wanted . . . I just wanted you to be happy."

Michael shook his head slowly, not understanding how a young woman that at first had seemed so moody, abrasive, and restless could have made such a sacrifice for his sake. His thoughts were interrupted by her soft voice.

"I think you have some questions to answer now," she said quietly.

He sighed, knowing exactly what she wanted to know. "The rumors were right. Vash really was the one that destroyed July and Augusta. It was against his will though, just like you, and he also used the angel arm, just like you. But he's never killed anyone."

"The angel arm?"

"That massive gun that surrounded your arm and came from Knives' gun."

"Oh."

"Frey, Vash and Knives aren't human. I don't really get it, either, but they're plants. That's why they have powers like the angel arm. And the reason Legato has his powers is that one of his arms is Vash's. Oh, and by the way, Vash and Knives are well over one-hundred. They don't age like normal humans. That's why Vash only looks like he's in his twenties."

"What do you mean, Vash and Knives?"

"They're twin brothers."

Frey froze. _Brothers? _The idiotic and careless yet very talented man she had been with and her parents' murderer were twins? Michael hadn't told her that in his previous explanation of Vash and Knives' past. She looked at him. He was watching her, his face sullen. They both had all of the pieces to the puzzle now, but what next? They also both remembered the reason Frey had come, to say goodbye. Michael stood up.

"Frey, don't do this." His eyes were brimming with emotion: worry, fear, shock. But above all, his face reflected pure, unconditional affection.

"We won't let him take you," he added softly.

Frey turned away, her face burning with indignation. "That's exactly what your father said, Michael. And then the angel arm happened. Knives was trying to make me kill all of you. I can't put you in danger any longer."

Michael reached through the bars and grabbed Frey's wrist, pulling her toward him. "Listen to me, Frey," he said, his face hard and unmoving, "you can't go. You _won't_ go." She opened her mouth in protest, but was cut off abruptly.

The dams in her eyes broke, allowing the collective emotions of six years to flow freely down her cheeks. She cried silently, no longer detaining the feelings of anger, fear, hatred, shame, and passion. Her face was burning, and she knew it must be as red as her cardinal jacket. Her heartbeat quickened rapidly, the steady thump echoing in her ears amidst the deafening silence. Her body fell limply against Michael's, her fury quelled. She felt weaker in that moment than she ever had when faced by Knives. Michael had kissed her.

He pulled back gently, but didn't release her. She had never closed her eyes, but as she refocused on the present all she saw was his strangely calm and collected face. Frey did the only thing she could. She allowed her head to fall forward on his chest and sobbed.

Michael held her in awe, barely noticing the bars between him and her. It amazed him that a girl as stubborn and proud as Frey was allowing him to see her like this. His joy was only

hindered by the memory of what had brought this quiet meeting and flood of tears on. Carefully he placed one hand on the back of her head, caressing her ebony hair. He whispered quietly in her ear.

"Afreyla, I'd rather die than lose you again."

He immediately regretted his words as she abruptly pulled back, cold bitterness replacing the passion in her eyes. He tried to reach back out to her, put she recoiled from his touch, like a child that had just been burned.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said coldly, tears still streaming down her cheeks, "but I can't let that happen to you."

Michael watched silently as she brushed at her eyes and regained her composure, then replaced her cap, refusing to look at him the whole time. Then she called to the sheriff.

The moody man kicked the door open as he entered, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah Buskus?"

"How much is this man's bail?" she asked, disguising her voice again.

A short eruption of laughter was heard. "There isn't any. We can't just let this guy go, he's a key asset in the arrest of Vash the Stampede."

"Lieutenant Buskus" withdrew a semi-large bag from the depths of her jacket. She shook it gently, and the clinking sound of coins filled the room. The sheriff's eyes widened with avarice. Michael watched in shock as she plopped the small fortune into the man's open arms.

"Is that enough?"

The sheriff smiled greedily. "That'd about do it."

Frey nodded in satisfaction. "I want you to wait an hour before letting him go."

"Done."

"I'm trusting you to go through with your word."

"You've got it."

Michael clenched the iron bars in his hands, realizing her plan. She was delaying his release an hour so that he couldn't follow her.

"Buskus . . ." he muttered menacingly Frey glanced once more at him, this time calmly. His threatening but desperate look didn't frighten her. Thick metal bars stood firmly between them. There was nothing he could do. She opened her mouth.

"Goodbye, Michael."

He watched helplessly as she disappeared from his view, enveloping his deathly silent abode in darkness again.

"Frey!" he screamed despairingly, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear him through the sound-proof walls, "come back! Please Frey," he reemphasized, his voice weakening, "come back."

Frey exited the prison, head down. To her right she felt to unmistakable presence of Legato Bluesummers, though neither looked at each other. Knives' plan to make Vash die had failed, and she knew she would probably suffer greatly for it, even though she had never been trying to bring about their deaths in the first place. She was willing to risk any punishment, however, if it would save them now.

Legato silently started to walk away. Frey glanced solemnly at his feet, then lifted her own shiny black boot and followed him.


	16. Facing Reality

Okay, here's chapter sixteen. As always, thanks to my reviewers. Sorry Blu-chan, but I'd already written this when you made your request for more MW, so I don't think there is any. Actually, I've already written the rest of the story. There you go guys! There's the big secret to my quick updates! I'd written the entire story before I even started posting it! I tried hack writing the first time, and I hated it, so I decided to take this approach. And with all the planning, rewriting (I think I have at least four different versions of this on my hard drive) and revisions, it took me a good ten months.Alright, I'm going to catch some z's now. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: As always, I don't, never have, and never will own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 16: Facing Reality**_

"Alright buddy, your time is up." Michael looked up sharply. The sheriff backed up a step, reconsidering his decision to let Michael go. But the unmistakable bulge in his jacket brought his conscience back. Silently he unlocked Michael's cell and left the door open, leaving the room. Michael watched it blankly for a few moments, then jumped to his feet and bolted out the door, grabbing his pistol as he went.

First he ran to the hotel where they had all been staying. It had been spared in the disaster, but not surprisingly, it had been abandoned. Next Michael ran toward the outskirts of town. He couldn't think of any other place where everyone might be waiting for him. Sure enough, two cars and a motorcycle sat just outside town, his family and friends sitting in them. Milly saw him first. She jumped to her feet and reached him in a few seconds. Immediately she set to examining her son for any injuries.

"Oh Michael, where have you been?" she exclaimed. Michael remained silent, allowing her to wipe his face with her sleeve and brush his rebellious hair from his eyes.

"Where's Frey?" It was Wolfwood. Unlike Milly, he had moved past his son's safety and cut right to the chase. Still Michael said nothing, but dropped his eyes.

Meryl spoke next. "They told us what happened, Michael. I'm sorry."

She was referring to Frey's use of the angel arm. Michael just shook his head, larger concerns looming in his mind. "That's not important now," he finally said. "Listen, I was arrested for knowing Vash, since everyone is assuming that he's the one that did it." Suddenly he noticed Vash's swollen face, and realized that he had probably already been blamed and punished for the incident. "Frey came and bailed me out of jail," he continued coldly, "but-"

"So you saw Frey?" It was Carly.

He glanced at her, then back down. "Yeah, but she made the jailer wait an hour before releasing me so I wouldn't follow her."

"Why wouldn't she want you to follow her?" Aidan asked.

Wolfwood answered so Michael didn't have to. "Because she was going with Legato."

Michael looked up in surprise. Then his expression grew malignant. "That's right. You knew all along, didn't you? I can't believe you knew about her past all along and you didn't tell me!"

His bright blue eyes were filled with steely spite. Wolfwood's, too, grew cold, though not in anger. "She needed to tell you on her own, Michael." He paused. "I'm assuming she did."

"Yeah."

"Look, all I know, and all I told them," he motioned with his head towards everyone else, "is that she somehow had connections with Knives and Legato and in return for my revival was joining them, though against her will. That's all I know."

"Since that bit of information is so insignificant," he muttered sarcastically. Wolfwood lit a cigarette indifferently.

"So they know?" he asked, moving on, "about Knives and Vash, and the angel arm, and the plants?"

Vash nodded. "Yes, we told them everything."

Michael took a deep breath. "Look, the whole truth is, when Frey was just twelve, Knives killed her parents and kidnapped her. Then he gave her this fake arm with plant powers that gave her her abilities, much like your arm gave Legato his powers, Vash." Aidan groaned quietly. She, along with her parents and Alec, looked exhausted from the pure deluge of information they had been given. Michael ignored them and continued.

"When she was thirteen, she ran away from them. You know the rest, Alec. After wandering around in the desert for awhile, a bus driver found her unconscious and picked her up. Then he took her to his brother, a doctor. That doctor was Alec's grandfather, and he's raised her ever since."

Aidan spoke up. "But why? Why would-" she wrinkled her nose at his name, "_Knives_ do such a horrible thing to a girl?"

Vash looked at her sadly, then answered. "Knives doesn't need a reason, Aidan."

* * *

". . . give me the donut . . . Vash the Stampe . . . BANG!"

Alec jolted awake at the noise. He turned to look at the sleeping figure that had made it. Vash was laying in the front seat of the car, one hand in mid-air and pointer finger extended, like a gun. Alec shook his head and rolled over in the back seat, clenching his eyes shut and trying to tune out the dream-created prattle of the gunman.

After a few more minutes he gave up, and instead focused on watching the stars. He glanced at the other car, and immediately noticed that Aidan was no longer in her previous position. He sat up, scanning the area for her. The only trace of the redhead, though, was a trail of footprints in the sand. They led to the nearest sand dune. Then he spotted her. She was a speck on the horizon, sitting atop the crest of the mountain of sand.

He reached her quickly, but held himself back for a few moments, watching her. Her knees were pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her long red hair had been taken out of its usual braid, and spilled unrestrained down her back and across the desert floor. She had buried her face in her knees, and Alec soon realized that what he had thought were shivers were really racking sobs.

Quietly he sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, again watching the sky. Her weeping immediately halted in her surprise, but other than that she didn't react. Soon she relaxed against him, however, welcoming his comfort.

Alec didn't have to ask what was wrong. "I want to go home . . ." she whispered. He just continued to hold her.

"I know, I know," he murmured softly.

Aidan lifted her arm and wiped her tears away. Then she looked up at Alec.

"So what now? What about Frey?"

"We go after her, what else?" he answered, grinning. Aidan answered with a soft smile of her own, then faced forward and laid her head on his shoulder, watching the bright stars with him. Neither noticed the dark figure of Sloan watching them from a slight distance.

Carly opened her eyes halfway as she heard Sloan climbing back into the car.

"Hey hon, whatcha doin'?" she asked groggily.

"Oh, nothing."

Carly just rolled over on her side and started to drift off again. Sloan sighed deeply as he laid down, putting his hands up behind his head and staring up.

"You know what, honey?"

"What, dear?" she murmured.

"Alec really isn't that bad, is he?"

At that Carly's eyes flew open. She smiled, wide awake now.

"No Sloan, he isn't."

* * *

Frey stumbled as she was shoved roughly into a dank room. A thick metal door closed behind her, and a pair of footsteps disappeared down the hall. She sighed as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The room was small, with nothing but a diminutive bed in the corner. The only light spilled through the small window in the door.

Silently Frey pulled off the calvary cap she still wore and threw it aside. She also removed her boots, leaving her feet vulnerable expect for her socks. She huddled into the corner on her bed, pulling her jacket tighter around her to fend off the permeating chill. Quietly she grasped the chain at her neck and pulled out Michael's silver ring. She slowly slid her fingers across the shiny silver, tarnishing the bright gleam.

"You know, you really should stop pitying yourself."

Frey jumped and shoved the ring back into her shirt. She looked up. The darkly clad figure that had been there on the day Wolfwood had been revived stood outside her cell. She still couldn't see his face from the depths of his hood.

"Who are you?"

"Moratus the Necromancer," he replied, bowing deeply, "one of your many new comrades." Frey looked away stubbornly, refusing to accept what he was saying. She wouldn't consider herself an ally of such a man.

Moratus sighed, turning to face away from her and leaning against the door, so he was out of her view.

"Don't you get it?" he asked. "You're better off here than anywhere else. You're just like all of the rest of us."

"How so?"

"You're familiar with Rai-dei the blade, aren't you? In his words, we are merely dark diabolical puppets. We are demons."

"I'm not like you."

"Are you human?"

Frey fell silent, glaring at the floor. The Gung-Ho Gun stood and looked at her through the window again.

"At least your powers will go to good use here."

She shifted her venomous gaze to him. "You call killing people useful?" she hissed. Even though she couldn't see through to his face, she could sense his lips curl in a sadistic smile.

"Only a little." He disappeared in a black wisp of smoke.

Frey leaned back against the wall, head up, and closed her eyes. She sighed deeply, and felt something hidden in her jacket as she did so. She reached into it and pulled out her old gray glasses.

_I love you._

Michael's words echoed in her head as if he was standing next to her. Suddenly waves of guilt poured over her for what she had done to him. It had been her only choice, but the look on his face as she had left him in that prison had nearly broken her. No, he _had_ broken her. He was the only one that had caused tears to come to her eyes since her parents had died.

She looked at the small barred window in the door to her asylum. It looked like it would be just big enough for her to fit through, if the bars were gone.

"I'm not going to do this. I'm not going to sit here and wait while Knives plots who knows what." She stood, suddenly renewed and determined enough to confront the devil himself.

She closed her eyes and cleared her mind, focusing everything on the three metal bars. A slight smile graced her lips as they began to fall, one by one, and clattered on the floor. She opened her eyes again, with small beads of sweat on her forehead being the only sign of her effort. She reached out and heaved herself through.

She had no idea where she was going. She just navigated the various hallways at a sprint, feeling the anxiety growing within her as she planned out her coming conversation with Knives.

There was a door at the end of the hallway. A thin line of light appeared from beneath it. Frey extended a hand to open it, but stopped short.

"Ah Frey, haven't you learned yet? You can't escape, no matter how hard you try. Besides, what would you have done? Where could you have gone?"

Frey turned to face Knives' icy blue eyes, everything she had planned thus far suddenly dissipating. She spit on the floor in front of him.

"I wasn't trying to escape, Knives. But I could have if I really wanted to. I did it five years ago, I can do it again."

Knives smiled patronizingly and shook his head. "Are you that naive, Frey? You never escaped. _The very doctor you came to know and trust is one of the most loyal Gung-Ho Guns_."

"You're lying."

"Am I?"

Frey looked at his eyes, trying to penetrate his barrier of prevarication. But there was no hidden motive in his words. His gaze revealed the fact that he spoke the truth. Her body suddenly was overcome with a cold feeling of fear, as if the very blood flowing through her veins had frozen.

"My entire life with him is a lie?"

"Yes."

"And Alec?" she asked weakly.

"The doctor sent him after you to keep an eye on you."

"Then . . ." she murmured, terror taking hold of her mind, "Alec is a . . ."

"No, he's not a Gung-Ho Gun. It's a shame, too. He has amazing skills. But he's just as ignorant as you were about the whole situation. And he'll die, along with the rest of them."

Frey didn't know whether to feel relieved that Alec hadn't betrayed her of infuriated with Knives for threatening to kill him. She just fell back a step, one hand held to her mouth in shock.

"It can't be . . . no! You're lying! The doctor would never-"

She was cut off as Knives produced something small and red in his left hand. She took a better look. It was the match to the earring in her ear, the small red flower.

"How did you get this?" she asked in a daze.

"The doctor."

Frey collapsed to a sitting position on the floor, staring at the ground and shaking her head in wide-eyed disbelief.

"Don't you see, Frey? I've had complete control over your life since the day you left me. I had your precious doctor send you to Tonim Town at the same time the Wolfwood boy was there. I paid the mob that chased and shot both of you. I also made the sand steamer crew kick you off in December, the boy's home town. And there you met Vash. I must admit, the doctor's foolish grandson almost thwarted my plans when he ran off and tried to take you back to September before he was supposed to. But thanks to that calvary man, the two of you ended up right back where you started. I allowed word of me to leak out, luring my idealistic brother out of his safe haven of the past twenty years. I brought back Nicholas D. Wolfwood for you, so that Vash would trust you. I made you use the angel arm to destroy half of your town when you disobeyed me. I warned the doctor about it, too. That's why he wasn't in September when you arrived. And now I've brought you here." He paused, allowing it all to sink in. Frey continued staring at the floor, overwhelmed, then glanced sadly up at him.

"Why?"

"Why? What kind of question is that?"

"Why _me_, Knives? Why did you kill _my_ parents? Why do you hate _my_ family? Why did you kidnap _me_ and turn _me_ into some kind of non-human freak of nature!"

He smiled, amused. "Because, Frey. You're the only one that can destroy him. You're the only one that can make my brother truly suffer."

Frey laughed in spite of herself. "That's impossible. I'd never be able to defeat Vash, even if I wanted to."

Knives shook his head. "All we have to do is wait for him to come play hero, and then you will. You'll kill all of them, one by one, saving Vash for last." His eyes gleamed demonically, as if he was gaining pleasure from the thought.

_Tell me, will you fight alongside Knives when Vash and I come to defeat him?_

Frey's eyes narrowed. Those words, spoken by Wolfwood, had been the ones to convince her to stay with them. And yet here she was.

"I won't kill them, Knives. I don't care what you do to me, I'm not going to touch them."

He smiled again, like a patient parent trying to explain some high-minded concept to a simple child. "You're forgetting a few very important things, Frey. One," he said, extending one finger on his left hand, "you have the power of the angel arm. Two, I control that power, and can summon it whether you want me to or not."

"But so do you, Knives! I don't understand why you're getting me to do your dirty work. I can't beat him!"

"Which brings me to my third point. You, Frey, are the single survivor of the woman he once loved. He can't exactly fight back."

A picture of Meryl flashed in Frey's mind. "The woman he once loved?"

"Rem Saverem," he said with utter distaste.

The name was instantly familiar to Frey. Rem had been an ancestor of her grandfather, and therefore her father and her as well. She was the one Frey had gained her middle name from. And she was the reason Knives had killed her grandfather and parents.

"That's right," she muttered, remembering. "You killed my grandfather because he was related to her, and then my parents. But why? Why do you hate her so much? And what does she have to do with Vash? Who is she!"

"She was the closest thing the two of us ever had to a mother."

Frey knew that Knives was referring to Vash as he said "the two of us." So their love had been like a mother-child relationship. She gulped, almost afraid to ask what had happened to her.

"I guess I should thank her. After all, if not for her, Vash and I never would have survived. She was one of the ones on the ships that brought the human race here. She saved us from the rest of the crew when they wanted to kill us after finding us on the ship. But she was too kind and trusting for her own good. She filled Vash's head with ridiculous ideas of what she called virtue and honor. And she received the same fate that every weak, frail human being on this cursed planet deserves. I killed her."

Frey glared at the plant standing in front of her with pure enmity. "How?" she cried. "How could you do such a low and heartless thing to an innocent person?"

"Don't preach to me, girl."

"But how could you do such a horrible thing to your own brother? She meant so much to him . . ."

"Don't pretend you know anything about families. You don't have one." He turned to leave, but paused. "You should thank me for it, too. Just look at all of the trouble Vash has caused me."

Frey watched blankly as he disappeared down the hall. She slammed her fist against the wall in anger, then sighed and dropped her head in defeat.

_He's using me because I'm the only weapon Vash can't beat. He can't defeat Rem._


	17. The Final Struggle

And now, for the GRAND FINALE! . . . just kidding. Anyway, I'm glad you all liked the last chapter. **Steve Sullivan**-sorry, but the doctor and Moratus are two different people. Clever idea, though.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 17: The Final Struggle**_

Meryl slowly released Vash from her embrace. Milly followed suit with Wolfwood, the two women reluctantly bidding farewell to the men. They had both accepted that they would be useless against Knives and would only get in the way, but that didn't make parting any easier.

Wolfwood held the Cross Punisher over his shoulder. Milly smiled as she remembered the look on his face when Michael had returned his precious and unique weapon. She had never seen him so shocked, and yet grateful.

Vash slipped on his yellow glasses as he released Meryl. They made him look so much more serious, and unlike himself. When he wore them Meryl felt like she didn't even know him.

Wolfwood turned to Michael.

"Well come on. Let's go."

Michael's eyes widened. "What?" He knew he was the strongest and most capable under Vash and his father, but he had immediately assumed that he would be expected to stay back, even though the thought of not being there when Frey was rescued was practically killing him. He looked at his mother, who just smiled and nodded at him. Her willingness to let him go was surprising. Then he realized that she and his father had probably already discussed and agreed on this. He smiled back, a reassuring smile that was meant to comfort her and guarantee her of his safety. But Milly just watched with a painful and forced grin as he walked forward to join his father. The three started to get in the car they would be taking.

"I want to go too." Everyone looked at Alec, who had stepped forward. He ran a nervous hand through his sandy brown hair. "Look, I know you all think I'll probably just get in the way, but I won't hinder you, I promise. I'll be able to help, and I want to help you save her. She means a lot to me, too, you know."

Aidan reached out instinctively and laid a hand on his shoulder. "But Alec . . ."

He looked back at her over his shoulder and smiled, his dark emerald eyes confident. "I'll be fine, Aidan. I promise."

Sloan took a deep breath and placed a hand on his daughter's head.

"And you'll be able to make sure of that."

Aidan whirled to look up at him, everyone else's eyes focusing on him as well.

"Sloan?" Carly breathed.

Sloan smiled warmly at his daughter, an expression that contrasted greatly with his naturally hard features. "I want you to go with them."

Aidan's eyes instantly welled with tears, and she threw her arms around her father's waist. He patted her gently on the back, obviously feeling awkward at her sudden outburst of emotion. Carly's eyes were shining as well, and she stepped forward to slip an arm through her husband's and kiss him gently on the cheek.

They all knew that Aidan would be of no help in a mission to rescue Frey. Still, Sloan had finally realized how important this was to her, and his actions showed that she had gained his trust and he was willing to let go of her. Sloan looked to Vash, seeking his approval. The Stampede silently smiled and nodded. Sloan nodded his thanks, then looked back down at his daughter. Prying her off of him, he bent down and quickly hugged her, then whispered in her ear, "be careful." She nodded gratefully as he released her.

She slipped her hand into Alec's, who stood waiting, and the two turned to join Vash, Wolfwood, and Michael.

"Alec."

The young couple looked back at Sloan over their shoulders.

"I . . . I'm trusting you to take care of her for me while she's gone." Aidan's eyes brimmed over, silent tears running down her cheeks. Alec's smile faded, and he swallowed hard and nodded.

"Don't worry, sir. I won't let anything happen to her."

Sloan smiled and bobbed his head slowly in acknowledgment. Aidan and Alec turned around again, Alec putting his arm around Aidan's shoulder, and finished their path to their three companions. They climbed into the back of the car next to Michael, and they were off.

"There they go again," Milly commented, smiling.

Meryl looked up at her. "How can you be so optimistic?"

"Because I know they're coming back."

"How?"

"Well they always do, don't they Meryl? No matter how long it takes, they've never been gone forever."

Meryl looked back out at the retreating car. Milly was right. Ultimate danger, murderers, not even death had kept them away forever.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Milly. They never will leave us, will they?"

* * *

Miles away, in a dark, dirty cell in the fortress of a killer, sat Frey Buskus. The young woman was huddled in a corner on the floor, her face buried in her knees. Anger had overwhelmed her first, anger at the fact that she could do absolutely nothing about what Knives was doing. Bitterness had followed, because of her feelings for Michael. She was overwhelmed with the information Knives had revealed to her, too, and had finally fallen into dire hopelessness, a mix of conflicting emotion rolled up into a ball.

Suddenly the cap and boots from her uniform, previously resting on the floor, raised into the air, moving in wide circles until they crashed into the walls and fell, motionless, back to the ground. Frey curled up tighter, trying to keep control of her powers, and shuddering, but not sobbing, because she had no tears left.

"I'm scared, Michael."

After a few moments her shoulders slumped. She lifted her head and stared blankly at the wall across from her, her wet hair sticking to her dirty face. She glanced at the bars on the floor, mentally chiding herself for being stupid enough to try to compromise with Knives.

_Pull yourself together, Frey! This isn't like you! _

She knew the subconscious voice was right. She wasn't supposed to cry and be so weak. She was Frey. She laughed slightly, a dead, emotionless laugh that echoed in the cell and then disappeared.

_I must look horrible_, she said to herself as she ran a hand through her unruly hair. Her hand dropped, landing in a small puddle of water. Frey pulled her fingers through it for a moment, then glanced down at the wet spot. Immediately she hit the spot, dashing the water against the cold, hard floor. She had seen her reflection in it. The sight disgusted her.

_That's it. I just have to say no. I'm not going to hurt Michael, or Vash, or Alec, or Wolfwood, or any of them. I don't care what Knives does to me. There has to be some way to beat him._

Frey sighed deeply, feeling suddenly peaceful even though she still had no idea how she was going to get out of this. She laid her head back, closing her eyes and welcoming feelings of sleep for the first time in days.

Almost immediately an eerie feeling ran down her spine. Legato was coming. She looked up as he appeared, no longer really afraid, and stood up.

"It's time."

She took a deep breath, which came out shakily as she exhaled, and walked slowly after him.

Frey closed her eyes and savored the moment as she felt the sun on her face after so many days locked in a damp room. Her moment of rejoicing was quickly interrupted, however, as she looked up and saw Knives standing a few feet from her. He was watching something in the distance, and appearing especially evil. Frey looked in the same direction and instantly recognized one of their cars speeding towards her, carrying Vash and Wolfwood in the front. Her spirit sunk as she was again faced with the impending situation.

As the car neared, Frey could make out Michael, Aidan, and Alec in the back seat. Her knees buckled as she recognized the figure of Michael standing up, yelling her name. Suddenly facing all of them, especially Michael, seemed a lot harder than she had expected. Instinctively she turned to run, but Knives grabbed her by the arm firmly and dragged her to stand next to him.

The car pulled up and skidded to a halt, several yards away from her and Knives. Michael jumped out at a sprint, but Wolfwood grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him back, shaking his head. Michael responded by looking helplessly and worriedly at Frey. She turned her head in shame. Michael watched her sadly. She was wearing merely the gray calvary pants which were too big on her and her black T-shirt, with her gray sunglasses perched on top of her head. But he really couldn't have cared less about that. What concerned him was her cold, pained face, and her reaction to seeing him.

Wolfwood and Vash slowly climbed out of the car, Vash instructing Alec and Aidan to stay in the car and drive as fast as they could if anything went wrong. Alec squeezed Aidan's hand and nodded. Vash turned to Knives.

"So this is what you've been doing since you left," he said accusingly.

Knives rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you were actually naive enough to believe that I would change after you defeated me. Ah," he sighed, "that's just like you."

"Let her go, Knives." Knives just smiled, but Frey cringed. _He doesn't get it yet . . ._

Knives looked down and saw that Frey was looking away from Vash, Wolfwood, and Michael. He grabbed her roughly by the chin, forcing her to look at them. In the movement her sunglasses slipped from her head.

Her eyes locked on Michael's. The bright blue eyes that had thus far always been an assurance and comfort to her were now filled with fear.

"Tell me, Frey, how does it feel? Isn't it wonderful to be fighting on _this_ side, against people like them?"

Frey bit her lip as she saw Michael mouth the word "fighting?" in confusion. She desperately wanted to look away, but was unable to due to Knives' bruising grip. Michael could tell from the look on her face that she would have given anything to be anywhere but there in that moment, as she realized that there was no way she could escape Knives' will, no matter how determined she was.

Alec abruptly jumped out of the car, yelling, "why you-!" He started running toward Knives, steely-eyed and strong-willed, but before he was able to cover more than a few feet Knives had pulled out his gun and fired. Alec stopped short as the point of the leaden bullet easily pierced the skin over his stomach and thrust itself into his unprepared body.

A terrified scream was wrenched from Aidan's throat. "_ALEC!_"

Knives started to laugh. "Stupid boy," he said, "why do you try to bring on your death even sooner than it has to be?"

It all seemed like a dream to Frey as she watched Alec collapse to the ground, his green eyes wide in shock and terror. Aidan leaped over the car door and fell to her knees next to him, salty tears pouring down her cheeks. She buried her head in his chest, not caring as her pristine white shirt got stained with his crimson blood. After a few moments she pulled back to look at his face.

"Why Alec, why . . ."

Alec removed his hand from where it clutched his wound and reached up to touch her cheek, wiping away a tear but leaving a trail of blood in its place.

"Oh," he muttered, "look what I did." He started to pull his hand away, not wanting to further stain her pure angelic face, but Aidan clutched his hand and pressed it to her cheek, showing that she valued him far above a clean face.

He smiled slightly. "Don't worry about me, Aidan, I-" he paused to cough, a harsh cough that brought a thin line of blood to his mouth. Aidan clenched her eyes shut, crying even harder.

"I'll be fine," he continued. "I promised, remember? I promised your father that nothing would happen to you."

Michael, Vash, and Wolfwood watched the exchange in horror. Wolfwood was the first one to shake himself out of the daze, and ran to the couple, removing the Cross Punisher's cloth cover and applying it to Alec's wound.

Vash glared fixedly at Knives. "You . . . you did it again. Why do you have to kill?" he demanded.

"Why not?" He ignored Vash as he continued to stare at him, shaking, and finally let go of Frey's face. He roughly shoved something into her hands and pushed her forward. "You're up."

Frey looked down. In her hands was the black Long Colt. She gasped. Hadn't she gotten rid of this back in September?

"Kill whoever you want first," Knives murmured so only she could hear him, "just remember to make Vash suffer before you dispose of him."

Frey just continued to stare at the gun, wondering what to do. A soft word from Michael startled her and lifted her gaze.

"Frey?"

The moment she had first seen Michael flashed into her mind, as the dark stranger had dragged her into an alley to save her life after she had landed on him when being thrown out the bar window. Some of the first words he had spoken to her after waking up on the sand steamer came next.

_I guess I could have killed them, but Vash never would have forgiven me._

Her gaze shifted to Vash, who didn't at all look afraid or angry at her, just disgusted with his brother. The events of the past few months ran through her mind. He might be Vash the Stampede, but he was an honest, caring, and innocent man.

_And I'm about to kill a man like him to make Knives happy._

She turned around and looked straight into Knives' eyes.

"I can't."

To her surprise, Knives just smiled crookedly and smugly addressed Legato. "You know what to do."

Frey watched Bluesummers carefully, but neither he nor Knives moved. Then she heard a sharp cry of pain from behind her. She whirled, only to find Michael holding his own cross pistol to his head. Wolfwood stood from his position beside Alec and Aidan and took a step forward, but halted at Knives' voice.

"Move and he dies."

Frey watched in horror as Michael struggled uselessly against Legato, then looked to her helplessly. Knives rested a hand on her shoulder from behind, but she didn't move.

"Let me make this easy for you, Frey. I need you in order to kill Vash. If you don't cooperate and take care of him for me, Michael dies, as well as every other single one of your weak little friends. Which is the greater loss? One man, or every other person here?"

"But you said you were going to make me kill all of them anyway," she answered, her tone scalding.

Knives shrugged. "I am a man of compromise." He then looked to Vash, who he knew had heard the conversation. "Oh, and don't think you can save them, Vash. You might be powerful enough to resist Legato's powers, but the rest aren't."

Frey continued watching Michael painfully, almost looking for an answer from him. But Wolfwood's son just watched her with fear, still trying to remove his gun from his head. She knew she couldn't let him die, but she couldn't kill Vash, either. She glanced desperately at Knives. He was smiling. Instantly her eyes narrowed, her glare caustic.

_He's enjoying this. He's actually enjoying this!_ She remembered him telling her that the doctor that had taken care of her was working for him the whole time. _My life is a lie. My entire life is one horrendous lie! _She was shaking now, her fists clenched. Their eyes locked and held for several moments, her sparking red ones contrasting with his icy blue ones. But this time his hard gaze didn't put her's out. Her eyes held so much anger, they appeared to be two deep lakes of liquid fire, the very doors to the underworld itself. And there was no doubt that that was the only place she wanted to send him.

Knives didn't flinch. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, "well?" Frey turned sharply on her heel to face Michael. She closed her eyes, honing in on Legato. The Gung-Ho Gun jerked ever so slightly as he felt the presence of her powers, but even the slight movement made Frey smile. Considering who she was up against, that was a small victory in itself.

Vash and Wolfwood watched the mental battle silently, oblivious to who might be winning. Knives just smiled and shook his head. Aidan looked at Frey for a moment, then turned back to Alec and closed her eyes.

"Oh, please."

Vash's eyes widened in amazement as the gun began to shake violently under the pressure of the two forces. That meant Frey was actually making an impact. Noticing it too, Michael took a deep breath and closed his eyes, mentally encouraging Frey and hoping against hope that it would help.

Frey's brow furrowed in concentration as she worked through the web of tangled emotions inside her head. The gun began shaking more and more rapidly. Then Frey gave her last mental shove, overcoming the very man that had trained her in her first year with these powers, and the gun dropped from Michael's hand, ending the seemingly eternal silence with a soft plop in the dirt.

Frey let out a huge breath and fell to her knees, her shoulders heaving up and down in deep breaths. Her grip around the Long Colt loosened. She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and looked up as Wolfwood ran to his son's side and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Michael answered shakily, smiling at Frey in spite of the situation. Other reactions to Frey's feat ranged from Vash's wide-eyed amazement at her pure willpower to Knives slightly amused grin.

Legato's expression remained imperturbable. Quietly he pulled out a gun of his own and raised it to his head.

"I have failed you, master. I apologize for my inadequacy."

"Legato, no!" It was Vash. The trigger was pulled, and Legato's lifeless body fell to the ground for the second time. Vash fell back a step, thrown into a sick deja vu at the sight.

Aidan cringed and looked away. More tears leaked from her eyes, and she tightened her grasp on Alec's hand. Alec opened his eyes halfway at the sudden pressure.

"What happened, Aidan?"

She shook her head vigorously. "Nothing, Alec. Frey won."

"Won what?" he asked, his words slurred together.

Aidan blinked rapidly to delay the next wave of tears. "Never mind, Alec, never mind. Just try to hold on."

Frey looked up at Knives, exhausted but victorious. Her smile faded at the look on his face.

"Oh, did you think it was over?"

"But, I-I stopped-"

"An unexpected turn, yes, but only a minor setback." He grabbed her hair and pulled. She quickly stood, and he turned her to face Vash. "Your true goal still lies ahead."

Frey stared at Vash again, too tired to be angry or shocked. The Stampede opened his mouth to speak.

"Forget it, Knives. It's over."

"On the contrary, dear brother. Don't be so foolish." The twins stood watching each other for a moment, Vash scowling and Knives still smiling.

"I'm afraid it's only just begun, Vash."


	18. Red Geraniums

FINALLY! Someone actually cares about Alec! I was so sad when I wrote that part but no one else seemed to care. But Kenta Divina does, so it's all good.

Now, I want all of you out there that aren't reviewing to get your acts together! It's not that hard! This is one of your last chances! Not the last, but one of them. Take the opportunity while you still have it! That means you! Out of the 24 people that read my last chapter, only two reviewed! Come on, don't make me beg.

Disclaimer: I don't own Trigun or any of its characters.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 18: Red Geraniums**_

"Forget it, Knives. It's over."

"On the contrary, dear brother. Don't be so foolish." The twins stood watching each other for a moment, Vash scowling and Knives still smiling.

"I'm afraid it's only just begun, Vash."

Knives slowly lifted his arm and snapped his fingers, the short click echoing in the intense silence. Even Aidan's crying had stopped. Vash watched numbly as the top of Frey's, or Knives', gun flew off again.

Frey watched helplessly as the gun raised seemingly of its own volition and pointed steadily at Vash, the metal beginning to seep up her arm and form what she now understood to be the angel arm.

She swore under her breath at the pain. "Knives, I hope you burn-"

"No, Frey! Don't do it!" It was Michael. Wolfwood grabbed him by the arm and started to pull him away from the blinding light.

"It's no use, son. Knives is too much stronger than her."

"So that's it? We're just going to stand here and watch as Vash and Frey probably die!"

Wolfwood shook his head, crestfallen. "I'm sorry, Michael. But there's nothing we can do. We have to trust Vash to come up with something now. Come on. We have to hurry and get Alec and Aidan out of here."

Michael glanced at Frey one last time, then reluctantly turned and followed his father toward the bleeding boy and crying girl next to him.

Frey watched them go with torn feelings. At least this way they would be safe, but they were still leaving her, again. She looked back at her arm, which by now was completely transformed. All they had to wait for was for it to gather enough energy to fire. She yelled in agony and frustration. Was there absolutely nothing she could do? Had Knives really won?

_No_, she told herself, _there has to be a way to beat him_. She racked her brain. The only thing she could think of was Michael's account of how Vash had first defeated Legato. Supposedly the Gung-Ho Gun had tried to make Vash use the angel arm for the third time in his life. But somehow Vash had overcome it. He had stopped the angel arm. That meant it was possible, but would it be for her? After all, she was still mostly human. Only her arm possessed the abilities of a plant. She wasn't immortal, and she aged normally. Could she handle something like this? It surely had been draining even on Vash. So was it sane for her to even try it?

She shook the doubt out of her head, making herself believe. She remained rational, however, knowing that the effort she was about to exert would kill her. Even if she had been a plant, she couldn't measure up to Vash. But it was worth it if she could save her friends. Besides, this way Vash's biggest threat would be out of the way. With her dead, Vash would have no problem defeating Knives and ending all of this.

Vash glanced over his shoulder and sighed in satisfaction at the sight of everyone else leaving. Then he turned back to his more impending problem. His eyes locked on Frey's face. Surprisingly, she didn't look afraid at all, and her expression was uncharacteristically calm and collected. She watched him with a melancholy smile, her eyes sad but showing no regret. Suddenly Vash realized her intentions. She was going to try to stop the angel arm herself, and the effort would probably destroy her.

Vash opened his mouth to protest, arguing that there was another way, but Frey's psychically spoken words cut him short.

_Vash, take care of Knives. Don't worry, Vash_.

Vash was instantly paralyzed. His mind flashed back to his last moments with Rem, as she had told he and Knives that she would be staying behind.

_Vash_, she had said, tears streaming down her cheeks, _take care of Knives_. The door to the pod had nearly closed by then. _Don't worry, Vash_.

True, Frey had had a very different meaning in the words, but nevertheless, Vash was suddenly a little boy again, thrust unsuspecting into his past. He felt a single tear of sorrow run down his cheek at the memory of losing the closest thing he had ever had to a mother.

_He killed her. Knives killed Rem!_

_Yeah_, the child version of Knives said in Vash's head, _spectacular, huh? They all died._ Vash remembered the demonic look on Knives' face as he had said those words as if it had happened yesterday. He had killed Rem without remorse, without any regret whatsoever. He was _glad_ she had died! At first he had considered saving her for Vash's sake, he had said, but that didn't bring on feelings of guilt when he had ended up killing her anyway.

_Now I see how imperfect she really was. It's a good thing she died._

Vash clenched his fists, looking down. Knives had killed her descendants, leaving only Frey behind for his own sick and twisted purposes.

_Hey, Vash. Now everything that brought you and Rem together is gone._

The present Knives began to laugh as memories of his past words haunted Vash. "Why don't you defend yourself, Vash the Stampede? You knew all along that this girl was all that was left of Rem, didn't you?"

Vash just continued staring at Frey in fearful shock. Knives was right. He had known. But he hadn't expected facing her to be so difficult. After all, she wasn't really Rem. She was just a relative.

Vash's stomach twisted violently as it all came into perspective. Ever since he had figured out that Frey was related to Rem he had wondered why Knives hadn't killed her. He felt sick as he realized that Knives' only purpose in keeping her alive was for this very moment. Knives had known that his brother wouldn't be able to fight back against her. And he had given her the power of a plant for good measure.

Vash's eyes refocused and locked back on Frey's. She had the exact same look on her face, the slight smile that showed that she accepted the sacrifice she was required to make. She couldn't have looked any more like Rem in that moment. Slowly she closed her eyes, ready to admit death.

"REM! NO!"

Michael, Aidan, and Wolfwood looked up at Vash's scream, then cringed and dove to the ground as the blinding white light emanating from Frey amplified. All three covered their heads, and Alec in Aidan's case.

Vash was crying unrestrainedly by now. He held up his arms to shield himself from the light, knowing there was nothing he could do now.

Michael grimaced as he laid on the ground, murmuring to himself, "no Frey, no . . ."

He opened his eyes and looked in her direction, squinting.

_Oh suck it up, you big baby._

His eyes widened. He could practically see her, smiling and winking at him. His heartbeat quickened.

"Frey?"

He didn't move as the brightness of the light reached its peak. It was deathly silent as the only thing visible to anyone was overwhelming whiteness.

_It's not too late to start over._

"Rem?"

* * *

Vash opened his eyes and immediately pulled his glasses off. All he could see was billowing smoke around him. He heard a cough a short way from him. Then the smoke settled, and the scene of the disaster became clear to his eyes.

In front of him stood Knives, the one that was coughing. In front of Knives, on the ground, lay Frey's lifeless body, her dark hair spilling out over the sand, her head down. The sleeve on her right arm lay in shreds next to her. The Long Colt was still in her loose grip. Vash slipped his yellow lenses back over his nose and gripped his own gun tightly.

"That was low, Knives." He almost added, "even for you," but he knew that wasn't true. The Stampede didn't move as he felt Wolfwood and Michael come up on either side of him, guns loaded and at hand. Michael let out a short gasp at the sight of Frey's body, but other than that kept control of his emotions. He glared angrily at Knives.

"It's over, Knives. She beat it. She beat you." Vash's expression softened, though he didn't smile. "After all, she _is_ related to Rem."

Knives didn't move, too awed to do anything. His entire plot had been ruined. Had he made the angel arm fire just a few moments sooner, he would have won. But his delay had cost him everything. However, his loss was nothing compared to the new hole opened in the lives of his enemies.

Wolfwood raised the Cross Punisher slowly and fired. Knives collapsed on the spot, gripping his shoulder fearfully, but said nothing. Michael walked forward and stopped just in front of him. His look plainly revealed his hatred for the man. Bending down, he rolled Frey to her back, then carefully gathered the breathless body in his arms, the Long Colt slipping from her fingers as he lifted her. He picked it up and pocketed it, not wanting Knives to be left with such a powerful weapon. Without a word, he turned back around and walked away. Vash and Wolfwood followed him to the car. All of them ignored the single shot heard from behind them.

Aidan sat next to the car. Alec's smeared blood was drying on her face, forming a stiff, dark red coating over her left cheek. Her brown eyes were half closed in weariness, dry and bloodshot. But she still clutched Alec's hand in her own, relieved that the color was returning to his face thanks to Wolfwood's actions. She looked up as the three approached, gasping as she saw Frey.

"It's over," Wolfwood said in answer to her questioning gaze. He sighed. "It's finally over." He glanced guiltily at Frey, then away, pushing on his black sunglasses.

Aidan stood and climbed into the car as Vash picked up Alec, laying him carefully in the back seat of the car and allowing his head to rest in her lap. Michael lovingly placed Frey on the floor next to him, barely able to wrench himself away from her. He climbed into the front seat next to his father and Vash, staring blankly at the desert. The priest watched his son carefully as Vash started the car, then placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as the boy bent over in angry sobs.

* * *

Meryl drifted into awareness as she heard the faint sound of an engine outside. She sat up and peeled a piece of paper off of her face, leaving various small black characters across one side of it. Rubbing her eyes and standing up from her desk, she walked to the window and pushed the curtains aside. Immediately she screamed.

"Milly!"

Milly Thompson bounded down the stairs. "What is it, Meryl?"

"They're back, Milly, they're back!" The two women rushed out the door and down the stairs, reaching the car at about the same time Sloan and Carly did. Meryl ran straight to Vash, throwing her arms around him. She was surprised to see that he was still wearing his yellow glasses.

His response was warm, but quiet and unlike him. "Hello, Meryl."

She pulled back, examining his face. "Vash, what's wrong?" He didn't answer. She looked around him to watch the rest of the group.

Wolfwood sighed deeply as he took Milly in his arms, closing his eyes. Aidan had removed herself carefully from the car, and promptly burst into tears as she hugged her father. Meryl's eyes widened as the redhead pulled away and moved to her mother. Her face was covered in dried blood.

Michael hadn't moved from the car. He just sat in the front seat, a black jacket pulled tightly around him, staring down the road and acknowledging none of them. It was then that Meryl noticed that two were missing. She looked up at Vash, her eyes wide with confusion. He took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her towards the back seat of the car. Carly, Sloan, and Milly looked as well.

On the back seat was Alec, sleeping peacefully. But the stains leaking through the bandages over his stomach were unmistakable. Wolfwood squeezed Milly's hand.

"Knives shot him," he explained quietly. Carly clapped a hand to her mouth, then let the arm drop and pulled Aidan closer to her, understanding her mourning. "He'll make it, though, with time to heal," Wolfwood added. He looked to the floor next to Alec. Everyone else's eyes followed his.

Meryl gasped, and noticed out of the corner of her eye that Michael's head dropped. The outline of a body was clearly discernable from beneath a gray blanket. She leaned against Vash for support.

"Frey?" she asked hoarsely, tears springing to her eyes. Vash nodded silently. Aidan burst into tears again, and Carly buried her head in Sloan's shoulder, who just watched in disbelief. Milly released herself from Wolfwood's grasp and let herself into the car, where she hugged her son and allowed him to cry against her. She softly stroked his coal black hair, feeling her own eyes start to water.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I'm so sorry."

"I couldn't help her, Mom. I couldn't do anything to save her."

"It's okay, Michael. It's not your fault."

"But it is, Mom. It is."


	19. Repentance

Ok, just so you all know, this is the 2nd to last chapter. Thanks for the feedback from the last chapter, though it wasn't quite what I expected. I hope this one doesn't ruin the intensity or whatever for you guys. As always, any and all reviews are appreciated, though I'm done asking since that doesn't seem to help much. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I still don't own Trigun

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 19: Repentance**_

A dark figure slipped through the open window on the side of the Thompson house, as mysterious and silent as the night itself. His target lay across the room, a lifeless being lying peacefully in death, covered only by a thin white sheet. The intruder's lips curled slightly at the sight before he stepped across the room and swiftly removed the covering.

Sure enough, it was her. The eyes that had watched him with distrust and scrutiny were now closed, the lips that had accused him pale and mute. The sight was slightly unnerving.

"I didn't believe it until now, Buskus," he murmured. "Who would have thought that _you _had really kicked the bucket? I suppose it makes sense, though," he mused, more to himself than the silent figure.

He pulled up a chair and placed himself next to the bed. "Now," he continued, "don't think I'm doing this because I like you or anything, especially after all of the trouble you caused. We all probably would have been better off if Knives had just killed you along with your parents. But he didn't, and now you've gotten yourself so involved that even death can't save you." He shook his head. "But I have to admit, you impressed me back there. You single-handedly stopped Knives. That's not something that many can boast. Only two on the planet, in fact."

The dark figure stood, extending a hand over the cold body before him. "Sorry Buskus, but you're not finished here. Your time to die isn't now. Who knows, maybe once you're back I can convince you that you aren't so different from the rest of us." He sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this."

No one besides the revived and the reviver was present to witness the sight of life returning to flow through Frey's veins. Moratus dropped his hand as he finished, looking thoughtfully at the young woman one more time.

"Who knows," he murmured, "maybe you really are different." And he disappeared.

* * *

"Coming," Meryl called half-heartedly to Vash from up the stairs. Sighing, she stood and began to make her way to the staircase.

Abruptly she stopped. The door to her left, the door that led to the room where Frey was, seemed to be almost calling out to her. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of that thought and tried to keep walking, but found herself unable to. Curious, and slightly confused, she turned away from the waiting man downstairs and apprehensively grasped the doorknob.

The sight of Frey's face surprised her. Glancing at the sheet on the floor and the open window, she quickly concluded that the wind must have blown it off during the night. She ignored the nagging voice in the back of her mind that reminded her that there had been no wind for days, if not weeks.

Quickly she grabbed the white material on the wooden floor, but she stopped before placing it back over Frey. Her azure eyes locked on the younger woman's face, and she gasped in surprise. Was that color in her cheeks? The sheet slipped from her fingers, and she shakily made her way to the bed, pressing her fingers to Frey's wrist. She froze.

Meryl was numbly aware of Vash's voice, calling her again and steadily getting closer. But she couldn't yell back. She couldn't even speak. She just waited until the Stampede found her at Frey's bedside.

"Meryl, what are you doing?" Meryl turned her head to look at the man in the doorway, a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Vash," she whispered hoarsely, "she has a pulse."

* * *

Wolfwood opened one eye as the figure in the bed he was sitting at the foot of stirred. After a moment he prepared to close it again, but this time the person kept moving. The woman was regaining consciousness.

Her arm was bandaged and in a carefully made sling. Wolfwood smiled as she cursed the pain as she moved the arm. Then she opened her eyes. The young woman stared at the ceiling for a moment in which Wolfwood could only guess she was remembering everything that had happened. She bolted up.

The first thing she noticed was the figure of Michael, sitting in a chair at her bedside. She opened her mouth to speak to him, but bit her tongue as she realized that he was fast asleep.

"He's hardly left your side for the past three days."

She jumped and looked at Wolfwood, wide-eyed. She hadn't noticed him. Upon recognizing the priest, she smiled.

"It's almost embarrassing to see my only son so head-over-heels for a girl, but then again, it _is_ you." She laughed appreciatively, and Wolfwood's expression softened.

"Hey, kid."

"Hello, Wolfwood."

After a few moments her smile faded as she came back to reality. "And what of Knives?" she asked quietly, staring at her hands, which were clenching the bed sheets.

"He's dead," Wolfwood answered bluntly.

"Oh," was all she said, though she had a somewhat difficult time believing it.

Wolfwood leaned back in his chair, resting his feet on the edge of her bed, and put his arms up behind his head.

"You know, you really amazed us all back there."

She shrugged.

"We thought you were dead."

"_I_ thought I was dead."

Wolfwood looked at her appraisingly. "You mean you thought you were going to die and you still did it?"

"Yeah."

He shook his head. "I don't see how you're being so nonchalant about it. We all thought you were _dead_, Frey. It wasn't until we got back here that you started showing signs of life again. You should have seen Michael."

Frey responded with a bittersweet smile. "That's the first time you've said my name."

Wolfwood rolled his eyes, knowing that if she didn't want to talk about it he wasn't going to get anything out of her. He pulled out a cigarette. Frey leaned back against her headboard.

Then she bolted back up. "What about Alec!"

Wolfwood smirked. "He's fine, just fine."

"So, I guess everyone knows about what happened."

"They know what we told them."

Frey raised an eyebrow. "And that is . . ."

Wolfwood sighed and looked up at her, smoke floating up past his face and disappearing at the ceiling. "Frey, I know there's something more to all of this than you and Vash have told us, all of us that were there do. We saw Vash, and the shock on his face when he saw you using the angel arm. I've never seen him so defenseless, helpless. There was something going on there that the rest of us aren't aware of."

Frey shifted awkwardly, surprised at his perceptiveness and thinking about the Rem factor.

"_But_," Wolfwood continued, "that's between you and Vash really, and we're content just accepting that the reason he couldn't fight back was because it was you. That's what we told Carly, Sloan, Milly, and Meryl, anyway." He smiled, sensing her next question before she asked it. "Don't worry. They all know you're innocent and wanted nothing to do with Knives in the first place." She sighed in relief.

"Thanks, Wolfwood."

The priest just smiled and winked at her, nodding his head in the direction of the door. "They're waiting for you." She smiled and climbed out of bed. Wolfwood tossed something to her, which she easily caught. It was her red jacket.

"You found it?"

"Michael and Aidan wouldn't leave the city until we did."

Smiling, she donned it over what she recognized to be some of Aidan's clothes.

"What about-"

"Just let him sleep. He'll get to see you when he wakes up." Convinced, she walked out the door, Wolfwood right behind her.

They were at Milly's house. Frey could hear everyone's voices floating from the living room. She smiled as she descended, comforted by the familiar tones.

Alec was the first to see her. He jumped out of his chair and started to run to her, but his wound hindered him and he stumbled before taking two steps. Aidan reflexively reached out to steady him, which he willingly allowed. Frey smirked as the two glanced at each other and then quickly away, blushing.

In a matter of moments the two had reached her. Alec hugged her first, swinging her around a few times and laughing. Aidan pushed him out of the way and took her turn. Frey took the opportunity to whisper in her ear, motioning toward Alec.

"Congratulations." Aidan's face instantly flushed, deepening past the color of her hair. The flustered girl was quickly pushed out of the way, however, by a bawling Milly. She gave Frey a huge bear hug, only releasing her as she heard Frey's muttered protests that her injured arm was being smashed.

"Oh Frey, thank goodness you're okay!" she cried. Frey's eyes widened in surprise. She wasn't used to being spoken to in that way, at least she hadn't been until she had met them.

Sloan stepped forward, smiling, and shook her hand. She took it gratefully, knowing his trust wasn't something easily gained.

Meryl and Carly followed with more tears and hugs. Last of all, Frey glanced at Vash, who just winked at her and smiled from the couch.

The tender moment was broken by a yell from upstairs, followed by what sounded like a chair being thrown to the ground and footsteps pounding down the stairs. Michael burst into the room, gasping for breath.

"Where is she!"

The group collectively started laughing, with the exception of Frey. She practically trampled Sloan as she leaped toward Michael and jumped into his arms, knocking him to the ground. He landed with a heavy thud and "oomph," the wind being knocked out of him.

Frey started to apologize, standing up and extending a hand to help the fallen boy to his feet. Michael grabbed it, but instead of pulling himself up he pulled her down to him. Releasing her hand and placing his hand behind her head, he pulled her down into a kiss.

The two stopped as Alec whistled, but only long enough for Michael to take his shoe off and chuck it at Alec, hitting him squarely between the eyes. Vash buckled over laughing at the mark on Alec's forehead. Meryl rolled her eyes and sighed in feigned disgust, and Alec glared at him, muttering, "oh shut it."

* * *

Frey extended her left arm in front of her over the well in the center of town. She was alone. It was sunset, and everyone else had retired from town square long ago.

She took one last look at the black Long Colt. It had been on her bedside table. She never wanted to see it again. Silently she loosened her grip, and the weapon slipped from her grasp, drowning itself and her past in the dark water with a soft splash. Shortly after the faint, echoing noise, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Can I join you?"

_Sure._

Vash walked up beside her, his blue-green eyes looking into the deep well.

_It's finally over._

_Yes._

Vash reached into his pocket and withdrew his yellow sunglasses, holding them out in front of her. She looked up at him, her copper eyes reflecting her surprise.

"I can't accept these-"

"No. I want you to have them . . . to remember by. Besides, your other ones won't do you much good."

Her eyes widened.

"You . . . you know I'm leav-"

"It's not that hard to figure out."

Deciding not to respond, she slowly lifted the canary lenses from his outstretched hand and ceremonially placed them over her eyes.

"Well?"

"A perfect fit." She smiled and looked back down at the well, placing her hands on it and leaning forward.

"Knives isn't really dead, is he?"

Vash sighed. "Actually, Frey, he is. Now don't go assuming I've broken any vows or anything," he quickly added, knowing what she would think, "but he is dead. After your little stunt, he . . . he committed suicide."

Frey was too perceptive to miss the mixed sorrow and relief in his tone.

"_Knives?_ Knives really gave up?"

"I guess so."

She sighed. So it was all _really _over, for both her and Vash. One single gunshot, and all the sin, suffering, and pain they had been caused had vanished.

Vash closed his eyes in contemplation. "You're still going to leave, aren't you."

Frey nodded. Then, realizing he couldn't see her, she affirmed his guess in words.

"I just don't want to risk it."

"Risk what?"

"I've done some horrible things in my past, Vash. After all, I was with Knives for a full year before I ran away. A lot of people hate me. And the Gung-Ho Guns are still out there. Aren't you worried about them?"

There was silence for a few moments. Then Vash opened his mouth to speak.

"You know, Frey, someone very close to me once told me that even if we do make mistakes, we have the ability to do something about it and make better choices the next time." His eyes glazed over dreamily as her reminisced on Rem's words. "And if you keep your vision clear, you will see the future," he quoted softly, "what happens in our future is our own responsibility."

Frey looked down at her feet, her raven hair shading her face. "Thanks, Vash." He merely smiled and patted her on the shoulder, then turned to leave.

"Vash?"

"Yes?"

"How . . . how did I survive?"

"Sorry Frey, but I'm afraid I don't have an answer that will satisfy you."

"What do you mean?"

"None of us did anything to save you, Frey. We all thought you were dead. But once we got back here, it was as if you miraculously regained a pulse. None of us know how it happened. After all, considering everything that happened, you _should _have died. Perhaps you just underestimated yourself, though. Maybe we all did."

"Are you trying to say that I've just got an uncanny will to live or something?"

The Stampede shrugged, smiling. "If that's how you want to look at it." He turned to leave again, leaving a confused Frey staring after him. After a few moments she looked back down into the well, her thoughts getting lost in its depths.

"Thank you, Vash the Stampede. For everything."


	20. I've Never Been Good at Saying Goodbye

Ok, here's the final chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed this along the way, your feedback has been greatly appreciated. I hope you all enjoy the end.

Disclaimer: for the last time, I don't own Trigun.

**LIVING MEMORIES**

**-A Trigun Story-**

_**Chapter 20: I've Never Been Good at Saying Goodbye**_

"Frey, get up! We've got to go, remember!"

Frey threw a pillow at Aidan and moaned. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in a bit."

Aidan rolled her eyes. "Frey, don't you remember what today _is_?"

Frey's eyes flew open, and she bolted into a sitting position.

"Oh crap! Give me five minutes!"

* * *

"Needle Noggin, you are absolutely the worst best man _ever_!" 

"What!" the blonde man whined.

"You're not even dressed yet! The wedding is in half-an-hour! Get your butt in gear!"

Vash smiled boyishly. "I can make it up to you," he offered, gently swinging the bottle he had just pulled out of his jacket back and forth.

"I'm not getting drunk right now!"

"Oh come on, just a little."

"No."

"But it's sooo goood . . ."

"You already had some of that, didn't you?"

"Please?"

Wolfwood caved. "Okay, just one glass." He watched as Vash poured it, then lifted it in a toast.

"To your wedding day," he said.

Wolfwood wiped the sweat from his brow and loosened his collar. "Right."

They drained the glasses.

"So Needle Noggin, when is your big day finally going to be?"

"Asking her tonight."

* * *

"Milly, you look beautiful." 

Milly just smiled as Meryl arranged her veil. The white dress was wide and flowing, trailing off the stool she stood on and across the floor for several feet. She took a deep breath and pushed a rebellious strand of hair that had escaped the piled curls on her head behind her ear. Noticing it, Meryl quickly pulled out a single white beret and pinned it back. She stepped back, hands on her hips.

"Perfect."

Milly stepped off the stool and sat down on it, shaking with nerves.

"What do you think he's doing right now?"

"Probably getting drunk with Vash," Meryl answered matter-of-factly.

Milly sighed, but smiled. "I just can't believe this is happening, Meryl."

Meryl smiled genuinely. "Me neither, Milly."

"When are you and Vash going to get married, Meryl?" she asked bluntly.

Meryl's eye twitched. "Me and Vash! Don't be ridiculous! I could never marry that ridiculous and conceited of a man!"

"Oh."

Somewhat put-off by how easily Milly accepted that, Meryl continued. "It's not like I hate him or anything, Milly, but honestly, can you imagine? Being married to _him_?"

"I guess you're right."

"I mean, I could never do that. My career would go down the toilet, and it's not like _he_ could provide for-"

"But you love him, don't you Meryl?"

Meryl's face flushed and she turned sharply on her heel away from Milly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

* * *

"Does my hair look okay?" 

"It looks fine, Aidan."

"Are you sure?"

She turned to the mirror, scrutinizing every detail of her figure. She smoothed her long, baby blue bridesmaid's dress, then spun, the light material swishing around her feet. Alec smiled.

"You're acting like _you're_ the one getting married," he commented with a crooked smile.

"I know," she said somewhat apologetically, "but I'm just nervous. I know I shouldn't be, I mean, I just have to stand there and smile and hold some flowers, but-"

Alec cut her off by placing a finger to her lips. "You look beautiful, Aidan. You're going to do great."

She smiled gratefully, not protesting when he slipped his arm around her waist and started to pull her towards the door. Alec reached out to grab the handle, but it turned before he could. The door burst open, and a livid young woman nearly ran into the two of them. She had short blonde hair and brown eyes.

"Aidan, where the heck is my thomas!"

Aidan cringed and covered her face with one hand, shaking her head. "Um . . ."

"Aidan . . ." the girl warned.

"It, it sort of got, er, stolen . . ."

"You lost it! Do you have any idea how much replacing it is going to cost me! I can't believe how irresponsible you are-"

Alec backed up innocently, bidding Aidan farewell with the pretext that he had something else to get done. He was saved when Michael walked through the door.

The two watched the heated exchange from the other side of the room. Alec sighed.

"Isn't she great?" he said, referring to Aidan. He elbowed Michael in the side. "I bet you're jealous."

"Alec, she's my cousin."

"Oh, right. Well if she wasn't I bet you'd be jealous."

"No. No offense to Aidan or anything, though."

Alec sighed and shook his head. "Yeah, I guess not. You prefer the kind of girl that has the power to kill you at any moment with no warning."

Michael shrugged. "What can I say?"

* * *

The wedding was beautiful. Vash actually pulled off the act of best man, with Meryl as the maid of honor. She, Carly, Aidan, and Frey all wore matching baby blue dresses. Jacob, who had probably become Frey's favorite kid from the orphanage, served as the ring-bearer. The audience was huge, consisting mainly of the families of Milly and Carly's nine other siblings. It was a simple wedding, and short, but it couldn't have been any sweeter. Milly and Wolfwood were both absolutely beaming. After the vows, "I do's," and the kissing of the bride, Wolfwood motioned to Michael, who stood to his left, next to Vash. The young man stepped forward, and Wolfwood placed his hand on his shoulder. 

"Now it's official, son," he said smiling. "I hope I can live up to the kind of father you thought you had."

Michael smiled. "You already have, Dad." Milly grinned and hugged them both tightly.

"This is the happiest day of my life!"

* * *

Frey declined going to the reception, saying that she didn't feel well and needed some rest. She knew that everyone was so caught up in the festivities that they wouldn't miss her anyway. 

Once back in the apartment that was now hers, permanently, she slipped off her blue gown and replaced it with her old baggy pants, T-shirt, and red jacket. She also brushed furiously at her ebony hair to remove the annoying curls and wiped off the excessive make-up she had been forced to wear. Refreshed, she collapsed onto her bed and picked up the framed photograph on the table at her bedside.

She sighed as she looked at it. It was a picture of her and Michael, shortly after they had returned from the ordeal with Knives. Aidan, Meryl, Milly, and Carly had managed to get her somewhat dressed up for a party Michael had taken her too. She was wearing a simple white dress that fell to her knees, which she hated, but she still loved the picture. She had her arm around Michael's neck, who was smiling but blushing like a tomato.

Abruptly she placed the picture face-down on the table again. She stood up and rummaged through one of her drawers for a few moments, quickly finding what she wanted. They were Vash's yellow sunglasses. She slipped them on. Then she grabbed the bag she had had since before she even met Michael and moved to her closet, shoving her few articles of clothing into the bag. She ran her fingers down the soft material of the white dress when she reached it, but was reminded that she wouldn't need it and hated it anyway and moved on. The last thing she put in was the picture, and her heart jumped to her throat as she zipped the brown material over Michael's smiling face.

She glanced around the room one more time. This was the first time in the last week that she had had this chance. She didn't want to take it. But she felt obligated to. The Gung-Ho Guns were still out there, including Moratus the necromancer. Vash had overlooked the fact that Knives could be revived. And if he came after them again, he would surely have an even more diabolical plan. They wouldn't be so lucky a second time around. Looking down, she walked to the door, and quietly closed it behind her.

* * *

Michael rounded the corner and was led onto his street. Immediately he saw Frey, her bag over her shoulder, standing in front of his house and watching it for the last time. She didn't react at his presence, and he wasn't sure if she had noticed him. He stopped a few yards away from her, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"I thought this was what you were up to."

Her gaze fell from his house to the ground. "I've never been good at saying goodbye."

"So don't."

She frowned, more out of sadness than anger. "I can't Michael, you know that. It's my fault you almost died. I don't want that to happen again."

"Frey, Knives is-"

"I don't care if he's dead, Michael. He could come back. Who do you think revived Legato and Rai-dei and your father? Besides, even if he didn't come back, I'm still dangerous. I don't have complete control of myself all of the time."

Michael shook his head. "Oh Frey, what are you thinking?"

"Don't patronize me," she said bitingly.

He stopped smiling, serious now. "None of that matters, Frey. If he ever came back, we'd all just take care of-"

Frey cut him off, fuming. "Don't you get it Michael! That's exactly what your father said! But you _can't _stop him. He'll be more determined than ever next time, and I just don't want to risk it."

"Frey, you're being irrational."

"Excuse me?"

"Just think about it. The Gung-Ho Guns probably just joined him because they were forced to. They're probably glad he's gone. I doubt they'll bring him back."

Frey glowered at his ignorance. "They aren't all like me, Michael. They're evil people. No, they're not even people. They're demons."

"Like you."

"Shut up."

"But it's true. You aren't really human either anymore."

"I don't care. I'm not like them."

Michael watched her suffering with a pain of his own. He didn't like describing her like that, but he wanted to make a point.

"Frey, you have no proof that they'll bring Knives back, or even attack us themselves. And even if they did, I don't understand why you're leaving."

"Because I don't want to be here when they do."

"Coward."

"I don't want to be used as a weapon against Vash again," she retorted.

Michael snorted sarcastically. "I never realized how conceited you are, Frey." He smiled and continued, seeing that he was getting under her skin as she glared at him. "Do you honestly think that you're the only one powerful enough to affect Vash in the way you did?"

"Stop it, Michael. You're ignorant to the whole situation. There were things in play that day that you don't know or understand."

He shook his head. "No, I'm pretty sure _you're _the ignorant one." Frey slid her glasses down her nose, finally staring at him directly with her scathing glare.

"Think about it. You're not Knives' target, Frey. Vash is."

Frey's scowl faded slightly. She jumped as Michael took one of her hands in both of his. She hadn't even realized he was moving toward her.

"If Knives does come back to life, he'll continue coming after Vash whether you're here or not. Besides, you'll be safer with us, and your chances of being taken again by him will be significantly smaller."

"Or higher. If I stayed with you he'd know right where to find me."

"But he won't pull the same trick more than once. Vash won't be put into the same vulnerable position twice in a row. He's not that stupid. And it's not like you've got anywhere else to go, anyway. Alec's staying."

Frey looked away from his open and welcoming gaze, desperately trying to drown the one ray of hope Michael was giving her, not daring to accept it.

"But-"

"We all want you to stay, Frey," he interrupted. She looked back at him, her anger gone and replaced by apparent fragility on her face. She lost herself in his bright blue eyes as she watched him. He just stood patiently, waiting for the answer he was already almost sure of, and focusing on the eyes he had seen burn with fury practically melt in weakness.

A man sprinting by interrupted the silence of the moment, turning both of their heads. He skidded to a halt as he saw them, gasping for breath.

"Come quick!" he cried between deep gulps for air, "it's Vash the Stampede! He's here! If we don't stop him now, he'll kill us all!" Michael looked at Frey, smiling.

"Please?"

She hesitated for just a moment, then conceded with a slight nod and smile. Beaming, Michael removed one of his hands from hers, but with the other one laced his fingers through her own, squeezing reassuringly. She allowed it without protest, and silently let Michael pull her after the man, right at his side, to bail Vash out of whatever trouble he had gotten himself into this time.

He spoke through his thoughts as they ran, knowing she would hear. _There _are_ people that care about you Frey, but you're not going to find them anywhere else. _

_Yeah, yeah. But I'm still going to kill you for what you said about me back there when this is over._

_I wouldn't have it any other way._

_**The End**_


End file.
